


suspended in disbelief

by shipwreck



Series: to dream of respite [2]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Insomnia, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Narcolepsy, Post Coital Dysphoria, Post Coital Tristesse, Rimming, Sleep Deprivation, asexual!Jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:40:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22419412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipwreck/pseuds/shipwreck
Summary: Pitch is always waiting for Jack to make the first move, but Jack feels safer staying still.
Relationships: Jack Frost/Pitch Black
Series: to dream of respite [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1613491
Comments: 21
Kudos: 127





	1. still here (waiting)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StarlightSeas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightSeas/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter warnings: alcohol, internalised ace-antagonism/ace-phobia, internalised ableism, implied masturbation]

At first, Jack thinks he’s fallen asleep at his desk at work; he’s slouched over, head pillowed on folded arms, the room filled with the low buzz of scattered chatter. But there’s a hand leisurely carding through his hair, and the only person that hand could belong to doesn’t work in his office.

“Pitch,” someone says. “You were robbed, my friend. Absolutely robbed.”

Brain still in sleep-mode, the words don’t make much sense. Pitch would never be robbed. He could kick the butts of ten men with nothing more than a copy of the Metro and a ham sandwich.

“The judges made their decision,” Pitch murmurs above him. “However, I appreciate the support. Thank you.”

 _The judges_? Jack blinks his eyes open. _Oh shit. The awards ceremony_.

They’re in a hall by Southbank, filled with a couple dozen tables and enough chairs for over two hundred guests, for the _International Cybersecurity and Digital Innovations Awards_. Because Pitch was nominated for some paper he wrote, and Jack was supposed to be his plus one.

He remembers coming here with Pitch, finding their seats, and he remembers thanking the waitstaff for pouring him a glass of water, and… and that’s it. His memory is blank after that. Wiping at his eyes, Jack finds his glass of water is no longer on the table. The fancy floral tablepiece he’d taken a photo of earlier is gone too. The overhead lights are on and the hall is practically empty, barely a handful of people scattered about at other tables, lingering while the waitstaff pack up.

The hand in his hair pulls away, squeezing the back of his neck before letting go. Jack can’t tell if it’s supposed to be reassuring or admonishing. This was one of those fancy dinners with a three-course meal and champagne. He can see smears of food on the light pink satin tablecloths. He slept through _three meals_. In front of Pitch’s peers and colleagues. Like a child.

Hesitantly, Jack looks up to Pitch, who’s taken his hand back and placed it on the back of Jack’s chair. He’s talking languidly to a colleague from the university that Jack vaguely remembers seeing before, and he doesn’t look mad or stressed or particularly tense. If anything, he looks relaxed. Maybe a little tired, which is reasonable since it’s — Jack grimaces at his phone — eleven at night.

“Oh, looks like your fella’s awake.” What’s-their-name says, giving Jack a cheery smile. “I best be off. District line’s a nightmare at this hour. Enjoy your night, old chap.”

_Old chap?_

“Not a word,” Pitch says under his breath, nodding as Unnamed Colleague heads off across the hall.

“I didn’t say anything,” Jack says, propping his chin on his hand. His throat is scratchy, oddly sore when he swallows. “Who was that?”

“Not a clue,” Pitch says. He really is handsome tonight, in his Nice Suit — the one he keeps in a garment bag in the closet — and his hair styled back from his face. There’s a few stress-greys near his ears that contrast beautifully against the black, and Jack thinks, _I can’t believe I’m here with you._

“I can’t believe you fell asleep,” Pitch says, turning to face him.

Jack’s stomach drops, even though Pitch is smiling, amused. “I’m so sorry. I swear, I didn’t mean to. I don’t even remember closing my eyes.” He _really_ hopes he didn’t snore at any point. “I can’t believe I missed the whole thing.”

“A nap would’ve been better use of my time,” Pitch says. “You missed absolutely nothing, I assure you. The night was terribly dull.”

“Are you saying that because you didn’t win?”

“I may be feeling a tad uncharacteristically bitter,” Pitch hums.

“You’re always bitter,” Jack smiles. “It’s one of my favourite things about you. Bitter, old, kind of mean, really great butt.”

Clearly, Pitch doesn’t appreciate the teasing. “The main was pan-seared salmon with white garlic cream sauce, and dessert was crème brûlée with balsamic toffeed strawberries”

Jack’s jaw goes slack. He can’t remember the last time they went out for a fancy dinner, and even if he could, he hasn’t eaten since lunch, which was, like, a million years ago. “ _Pitch_ ,” Jack whines. “You know how I feel about white sauce.”

“Do I?” Pitch pushes out of his chair, grabbing a paper bag from the empty seat beside him. He hands it to Jack, who peers inside. “You can reheat it when we get back.”

“Did you…” Jack swallows around the tightness in his throat. There’s no point finishing that question, because he already has the answer. He looks up at Pitch, who’s pulling his coat on, like he didn’t go out of his way to ask the catering staff to box up Jack’s food, so he could eat it later, because he _slept through the whole event._

“I know you’re tired, but unfortunately, we can’t stay here all night.” He lifts up Jack’s coat, holding it open, so Jack can easily slip his arms in.

“Thanks,” Jack says, quietly.

Coat on, he tilts his head up to look at Pitch, at the honey gold of his eyes, the sharpness of his chin, the prominence of his ridiculous nose. Jack has no idea why this man loves him. Jack has no idea what he’s done to deserve this sort of love.

Pitch, without having to be asked, leans down and presses the softest kiss to Jack’s mouth.

Sometimes he wonders if this is all a dream. It doesn’t seem possible that someone can be this… this _way_. It’s been over four years — almost five now — but the smallest, tiniest part of him is waiting for the other shoe to drop.

When they get outside, it’s well below freezing, and the chill has Jack’s skin tingling. “We should walk,” he says, grabbing Pitch’s hand. It’s been ages since they’ve gone for a stroll at night together, and they’re not that far from home. It’d be an hour walk, tops, and in this weather, neither of them will break a sweat.

He’s just about to deliver his extremely convincing argument when Pitch groans under his breath, a sharp, annoyed sound. He lets go of Jack’s hand so he can put two fingers to his mouth to whistle for a cab and wave at the same time. “Don’t come over here. _Don’t_ —“

“Kozmotis! Hey!”

 _Kozmotis?_ Jack peeks out from behind Pitch. He’s never met _anyone_ who calls Pitch that.

It’s another colleague Jack thinks he vaguely recognises — a tall man with brown skin, a warm almond-coloured coat pulled over a tux, and a Burberry scarf looped round his neck. He looks extremely posh, and as he gets closer, it’s evident he _smells_ extremely posh too. Maybe not from the university then.

“Djinni.” Pitch, having begrudgingly stopped trying to flag down a driver, has pasted on the ugliest smile to ever grace a human face. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“C’mon, you know I go by Jinn now,” he smiles winningly. His facial hair is overgrown, but in a meticulous way that suggests he probably puts a lot of work into looking specifically rugged. Jack looks between him and Pitch, who’s all pale and clean shaven. It’s like day and night, and Jack _really_ wants to take a photo.

“And you know I go by Pitch, yet here we are,” Pitch drawls. “Congratulations are in order, I suppose.”

The guy — Jinn chuckles, a deep hearty sound, and holds up a glass trophy that Jack hadn’t spotted. “No shade, mate, I really didn’t think I’d bag this one.”

Jack glances between them, understanding dawning. Is this the guy who won the award Pitch was nominated for? No wonder Pitch looks so annoyed.

“Who’s this?” Jinn asks, tilting his head. “Are you a consultant too?”

“Uh, no, Sanderson Industries. Jack Frost, nice to meet you,” he says politely. The way he says _consultant_ is weird. Like maybe he’s making a jab at Pitch, but it’s hard to tell. Jack always feel out of place talking to Pitch’s colleagues. They’re all into Serious Professional Things and Jack just likes — well, literally anything else.

“Oh, you’re one of Sanderson’s little dreamers!” Jin says, grinning “We did a collab with you last year. The _xFold_ _Flip_. Couldn’t quite get the mechanics right, but it was a blast, wasn’t it?”

Jack blinks. _The xFold_ — His brain hiccups, and he feels his neck start to heat despite the cold. “Wait, are you — ” He turns to Pitch then back to Jinn. “You’re Jinn as in Djinni, from _Djinni Robot_?”

“The one and only,” he winks. “I’m surprised someone as young as you has heard of me.”

“Okay, boomer,” Jack replies, purely on reflex. He really needs to spend less time on Skype with Seraphina. Before he can apologise, Jinn claps a solid hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“I _love_ it!” he laughs. “We should get dinner sometime. Let me pick your brain and find out what the _youths_ of today are like.”

Pitch bristles next to him, but Jack’s still processing everything. Pitch knows one of the world’s most famous tech influencers, and he never said anything. He was nominated for an award in the same category as this guy. This is _incredible_. This is — Actually, this is just the Sandy thing all over again.

“How do you two know each other?” Jack asks. The two of them look around the same age, and since they’re both in the same field, it makes sense they’ve met. But they’re also both disturbingly attractive, and the way Pitch talks to him, so openly caustic and familiar, Jack can’t help but wonder —

“We go way back, don’t we, Koz?” Jinn says, going to bump shoulders with Pitch, who leans away and pretends to brush dirt off his coat. “How do _you two_ know each other?”

Jack ducks his head. They don’t have a spoken agreement, but Jack tends to leave it to Pitch to introduce him, whenever they run into his colleagues or students or whatever. Not because Pitch is particularly keen on hiding their relationship or anything, just — he tends to be more private about these things than Jack.

Instead of answering, Pitch shakes his wrist out, examining his watch with faux-concern. “Oh dear, it’s rather late. Don’t you have a hotel to break into? Or are you just outright buying them now?”

 _Oh my god, Pitch_. Jinn doesn’t seem to take it to heart, clapping his hands together like Pitch is hilarious and not just being _really rude_.

“It was nice to meet you,” Jack says, earnestly.

“It was my pleasure,” Jinn says, grinning. “I’ll track you down on LinkedIn.” He shoots Pitch a wink, and heads off in the opposite direction, throwing a wave over his shoulder.

When he’s out of earshot, Pitch says, “I think he likes you.”

Jack breathes in too fast and ends up coughing up half a lung. “What are you talking about?”

Pitch shrugs one shoulder, placing a hand in the middle of Jack’s back and encouraging him to walk.

“Did you two go to uni together or something?” Jack asks, handing the bag to Pitch, who tucks it under one arm and offers his other to Jack. “Fuck, your hand is colder than mine.”

“My dear Jack, I’m not sure that’s possible.” Pitch intertwines their fingers and slips their joined hands into his coat pocket. It takes them a good few streets to warm up, and by then, the conversation’s moved on.

#

By the time they get home, it’s just gone midnight. While Pitch is in the shower, Jack pops the food in the microwave and opens up Skype on his laptop. It should be early afternoon in San Diego.

Seraphina picks up after a couple of rings, giving Jack a lovely view of her chin and nostrils, before she holds her phone up properly. She’s got her hair in a side-braid, and the undercut she’s growing out has been bleached blonde since the last time Jack called.

“Hey hey hey,” she sing-songs. “You, like, literally just missed Jamie. If you want, you can call back in like, two hours. We’re going to a gig on campus.”

“Nah, I’ll let you guys have your fun,” Jack says. He can always tweet Jamie later. “We just got home from that awards thingy.”

“Oh sweet. How’d it go? Has my father been deemed supreme leader of all that is dark and unholy?”

“Eh…” Jack makes a vague shrugging gesture.

“ _Boo_. Is he cool about it or is he having a mope?”

“I don’t _think_ so.” Leaning out of his chair, Jack peers around the corner at the closed bathroom door.

“Jack, we talked about this. You’re too soft on him. If he tries to mope, put two against his forehead and just —” she makes a flicking motion with her index finger and thumb. “Keep doing it until he stops.”

There’s no way Jack’s doing that and Seraphina knows it. _Seraphina_ shouldn’t even be doing that.

She props her phone up, the rest of the bedroom coming into view as moves around getting ready, while Jack grabs the food out of the microwave. It’s a bowl of mush at this point so there’s no point taking a photo for Insta, but it smells really good. Pre-chewed fancy food. Really not the worst way to end the night.

“Actually, I wanted to ask,” Jack says. “I think the guy who won was someone your dad knows. His name’s Djinni. Or Jinn? Have you heard of him?”

“Dad knows lots of old boring people, Jack.”

“Yeah, but, he called Pitch…” Jack leans out of the chair again and yep, bathroom door still shut. “… _Kozmotis._ ”

“Ew,” Seraphina says, wrinkling her nose. “No clue. Probably someone he and mum knew. Okay, what’s cuter for a spoken-word-slam slash lofi-beats-jam: neon rainbow jumpsuit or... maxi dress covered in bird skulls?”

Seraphina brings up her mum so casually, it leaves Jack feeling winded, his heart thudding in his chest.

“Are you buffering?” she frowns, waving at the camera.

“No, uh,” Jack puts the bowl down. “Show me the jumpsuit again?”

“Wait, no. It’ll be a pain to take off when I pee. Nevermind,” she throws it somewhere off-screen. “Anyway, where’s dad? Is he asleep already? Tell him he doesn’t need an award when he’s got the cutest daughter in the whole world. It won’t make him feel better, but it’s important to remind him of these things.”

“He’s in the shower, but yeah, I’ll be sure to let him know when he comes out.”

“Okie dokie, I gotta shoot,” she says, making a kissy-face. “Send my love to father. His heir shall soon return to claim the throne.”

“Be safe,” Jack smiles. “Enjoy your gig.”

_Beep beep._

Jack’s smile slips. He really misses her. He’s used to long-distance and virtual relationships but it’s surprisingly hard with Seraphina; he’s used to having her around all the time. Having her far away has tilted him off-balance. The flat seems so much bigger and emptier, without her conversation and music to fill it.

She’ll be back in a few weeks for Christmas though, and that’ll be nice. They’ll have their little family roast and Seraphina will play all her favourite Christmas movies and make them wear those paper hats that come out of the crackers. It’ll be good, even if she’ll have to leave again after.

Jack goes to wash his dish in the sink, only to pause, hand on the tap. They’ve been having trouble with the hot water lately and he doesn’t want Pitch’s shower to go cold. Is he _still_ not done? He’s been in there ages. Maybe he really is moping. It’s either that or —

_Oh._

A slow warmth drips down Jack’s spine, pooling in his stomach and making him shiver.

He leaves the bowl in the sink, padding barefoot out the kitchen, through the lounge, coming to a stop outside the bathroom door, listening to the pipes complain as the shower runs. Pitch will have left the door unlocked, and Jack knows — he _knows_ — Pitch wouldn’t care if he just walked in.

It’s a one-bathroom flat. Sometimes one of them needs to take a whizz while the other is taking a shower. It’s not weird.

And if Pitch is getting off in there… Well, Pitch would let him watch, probably. They’ve done that before too.

He’s not sure how long he stands there, feet frozen to the carpet, trying desperately not to think of Pitch touching himself.

The pipes grind and the sound of water stops. Jack should really move. Go back to the kitchen and wash up, or — literally anything other than stand here thinking of Pitch masturbating. When the bathroom door clicks open and steam rushes out, Jack can’t do anything but let it consume him.

Pitch is wearing a clean pair of briefs, hair dripping into the towel around his neck. He smells like shampoo and he probably tastes like toothpaste. He almost bumps chest-first into Jack, hands coming to his shoulders to move him out of the way.

“All yours,” Pitch murmurs.

Jack’s head snaps up. “What?”

“Bathroom,” Pitch says, eyebrows coming together.

“Oh. Um. Thanks.”

Pitch’s bare chest is right in front of him, droplets clinging to skin. He would let Jack touch him. He would let Jack do whatever he wanted.

If Jack wanted to do nothing, Pitch would allow that too.

He must stand there too long, because Pitch frowns, gaze searching. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jack says, heady. His dick is half hard in his pants, and it would be so easy to ask. All Pitch needs is a word, a touch —

A look.

Jack doesn’t move, eyes wide, breathing laboured. Pitch wasn’t moving much, but he stiffens quite suddenly, back straightening. Jack hears him inhale sharply, and then it’s too late, because Pitch already knows.

“Do you want the bedroom?” Pitch asks, studying him far too closely.

He does. He really does. He wants, like, twenty minutes to himself. But maybe Pitch hasn't gotten off tonight. Maybe he was in there moping. It would probably make him feel better if —

“Jack,” Pitch murmurs, he reaches a hand out, stopping just before Jack’s cheek, so close Jack can feel the heat of it. He lets Jack bridge the gap, meet him in the middle, tilt his face into his palm. “It’s fine. I swear to you, it’s fine.”

“Can I have a kiss first?” he whispers. “Or would that be mean?”

Pitch leans down to slot their mouths together. He always _always_ starts out slow, chaste, letting Jack change the pace. It’s frustrating sometimes, particularly in moments like this, when Jack is so keyed up — but it doesn’t take much encouragement to get him to kiss harder, to nip at Jack mouth with his teeth, to slide his tongue in and out.

Jack presses up on his toes, hands going to Pitch’s chest, his abs, his waist, his hips — every inch of skin he wants to touch. Pitch exhales harshly through his nose, and Jack knows from experience, his hands are fisted at his side.

Pulling away, Jack leans back against the wall, trying to catch his breath. What comes next is always hard. No matter how many times they do this, it never gets easier, and Jack hates that — hates the unfairness of it, but he promised Pitch he’d always be honest.

Pitch strokes his eyes up and down Jack’s body before looking away, forcibly unfurling his fists. He’s hard in his briefs, Jack can see, and it’s impossible, to keep the doubt from creeping in. It’d be so much easier, just to pretend tonight’s one of those nights.

“Are you sure?” Jack asks, licking his lips. “Because I’d be happy to — ”

“It doesn’t always have to be about me,” Pitch says, softly. “It can be about you, and what you want, and what makes you feel good.”

He doesn’t give Jack a chance to protest, stepping out of the corridor, leaving Jack to head to bed on his own.

#

Jack will never understand how he can love the idea of something more than the thing itself. Because he does love the idea of it. The fact he just came in his pants thinking about Pitch’s mouth on him, fingers in him, means he _wants_. But they’ve tried, and no matter how much Jack’s _brain_ wants, there’s a disconnect between it and the rest of his body. Even Pitch’s hands on him, through his clothes, makes his stomach lurch and his body flinch in all the wrong ways.

No matter what he tells Pitch, his body can’t lie, and Pitch reads the message loud and clear: _I don’t want this._

“It’s not fair,” Jack murmurs, aloud. There's nobody in the room but him and the moonlight.

Sweat drenching his shirt, unpleasant stickiness in his underwear, he tries to feel those chemicals he’s supposed to feel post-orgasm. This is where he’s supposed to feel satiated — exhausted but _good_. Instead, all he can feel is this creeping chill in his bones that he knows will spread until his whole body shudders with the cold.

Later, once Jack’s showered, he stumbles into the lounge in his pyjamas, finding Pitch on the couch, under one of Seraphina’s old fleeces. He’s put on some nature documentary, volume low, captions on. He smiles when he spots Jack, wordlessly lifting the blanket to reveal a perfect Jack-shaped space next to him.

The heating’s on, so it’s already warm, but Pitch’s skin feels scalding. Jack tilts his head up, studying the line of Pitch’s jaw before he asks, “Want me to blow you?”

Pitch squeezes the back of his neck. “It’s handled, but thank you for the offer.”

“Sorry,” Jack says, going to snuggle against Pitch’s chest — only to be pulled away by the scruff.

“You don’t need to apologise,” Pitch says. His eyes are hard but his voice is carefully neutral, like he’s worried Jack will take it the wrong way.

“Right.” Jack averts his gaze. The radiator by the front door is on, and Pitch’s draped his towel across it. It’ll be dry by now, because though Jack was wired, it always takes him a while to finish, even on his own.

“What do you have to be sorry for?” Pitch murmurs.

_I’m sorry I made you wait out here. I’m sorry you can’t touch me sometimes, even though you want to — even though I want you to. I’m sorry I’m this way. I’m so sorry._

He can’t say any of that.

“You had a bad night,” Jack says, flashing his cheekiest grin. “I just figured it’d be fun.”

“That’s…” Pitch pauses, taking in a deep breath. He sighs, looking briefly away before squaring Jack with an unimpressed look. “Disregarding the fact I thought we were having a lovely night — You do realise if I was having the worst night imaginable, you would still not be required to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

“I know that, and I’m not _uncomfortable_ with it,” Jack says, climbing off the couch. It’s so hot in here, it’s suffocating. “I thought I was getting quite good at it, but thanks for the feedback.”

“Jack,” Pitch says, softly. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

He knows. He knows what Pitch is saying, because he’s said it before. This isn’t the conversation Jack wanted them to have tonight. If he’s really honest, he’s kind of tired of having this conversation at all. They can talk about it until the sun rises, and sets again, but Jack’s beginning to think they’ll never be on the same page.

Is it so bad, to occasionally do things he’s not entirely comfortable with, if it makes Pitch feel good? It feels like a fair trade-off to him, but Pitch is always adamant —

“The only thing I ever want from you is your honesty,” Pitch says. “So thank you, for being honest tonight.”

Not sure what else to say, Jack shrugs, exhausted in a way that sleep can’t fix.

“Come here.”

Obediently, Jack goes, letting Pitch kiss his cheek and pull him close. They watch the documentary until Pitch is snoring softly, stretched out lengthways on the couch, head pillowed on Jack’s lap.

Jack takes a photo on his phone, but doesn’t upload it anywhere. This one is just for him.

Forgoing another documentary, Jack watches the moon disappear as the sky between buildings lightens. It’s November, so the sun doesn’t rise until just past seven. He takes a few photos on his phone, since Pitch forgot to close the curtains last night.

Or maybe he intentionally left them open, knowing Jack wouldn’t fall asleep.

#

@Toothiana mentioned you in a tweet: _@JackFrost Hope you have fun at your fancy dinner thing :*)_

@Toothiana mentioned you in a tweet: _@JackFrost Take photos if you remember. Love yooouu x_

[SeraSeraKuromi] posted a new photo

[LastLight]: _seraphina said u said hi :)) hi back!!_

[LastLight]: _miss u_


	2. drag me down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter warnings: emetophobia TW, internalised ace-antagonism/ace-phobia]

Jack wakes with no recollection of falling asleep and no idea what time or day it is. It happens more often than not, so he likes to think he’s used to it. The roiling nausea and sweat, though — that’s new.

“You’ve got a fever,” Pitch tuts, pressing something cold and wet to Jack’s forehead. “We really should’ve taken a cab last night.”

“I don’t get sick,” Jack says, before curling up on his side, dislodging the cold and wet thing from his head. Pitch places it on Jack’s neck instead. His stomach feels simultaneously full and empty, and the dizziness isn’t helping. “It’s probably just something I ate.”

“Was it the salmon?” Pitch asks, suspicious. “Do you have diahorrea?”

“Ew, Pitch!” Jack sits up to slap him in the chest — only for his head to spin, which in turn causes his stomach to roll. He flops back down onto the bed, trying to focus on the ceiling with difficulty. “I don’t know, actually. I think there might be an angry squid where my organs should be. Do squids get diahorrea?”

Pitch dutifully returns the cold and wet thing (a towel, Jack hopes) back to its original spot on Jack’s forehead. “We’re out of cold and flu tablets.” He pulls his wallet out his back pocket, checking the contents. “Will you be alright for ten minutes?”

“I’m fine,” Jack says pulling the blanket up to his chest, only to decide he’s stiflingly hot and kicking them off. “Give me five minutes and I’ll get up.”

“Do you want that chicken broth from M&S?” Pitch says, completely ignoring him. “Or would one of the cans in the pantry suffice?”

“I’m fine. Seriously, you don’t have to do that,” Jack says, making a feeble grab at Pitch’s wrist. All he manages to do is swipe unseeingly at air, but he’s not willing to try harder if it means having to sit up again. “Didn’t you want to go to the markets today? Go buy your mushroom paste. I’ll sleep this off.”

“It’s pâté,” Pitch sighs. “And we can go another time."

“But they’re closed Sundays.”

“Thankfully, there are other days in the week,” Pitch says. “If you’re that keen on it, I can pick some up Monday.”

Jack could go either way on the stuff, but he knows Pitch was really excited. Well, as excited as Pitch can get about food; he went out of his way to buy a bottle of rosé to put in the fridge in anticipation of dinner tonight. Now it’s going to have to wait, because Jack’s body decided to throw a tantrum.

“There’s ibuprofen and water on the table. I’ll be back in ten,” Pitch says, going to kiss Jack on the forehead, only to realise the towel he put there is in the way. He takes Jack’s hand instead, pressing a kiss to the inside of his palm. “Please try your best not to expire in the meantime.”

“Unlike you, I’m young and spritely,” Jack says, just to be a brat. “I’ll be back on my feet in no time.”

#

@Toothiana favourited your tweet: _Stuck in bed sick… on a WEEKEND_

@Toothiana replied to your tweet: _Oh no!!! Lots of water and sleep (if you can)!!_

#

He’s sick for two weeks.

He has to call HR and ask if he can work from home, which is fine, until Sandy finds out he’s sick. Then HR calls him back and says, no, he can’t work from home, he can’t work at all, until he’s better. He tries bypassing them on his laptop, only Sandy's freaking _disabled his user access_ and locked him out. Pitch refuses to help. Worse than that, he takes a few days off too, which is ridiculous because all Jack’s doing is lying around and drinking mugs of lemsip.

“I’m just saying three days is a bit excessive,” Jack complains, cheek squashed against the mattress. “Didn’t you have a surprise quiz planned for today? You were so excited about how miserable it would make everyone.”

“Mm. Think of all the students being spared, thanks to your body malfunctioning,” Pitch replies, drily.

The wording of that makes something in Jack’s chest squirm unhappily, but he ignores it.

“Moreover, this gives me a chance to catch up on marking,” Pitch adds. “It’s a win for everyone.”

It’s boring being sick, is the thing. Jack hates being bored. He can’t focus long enough to play games online with Bunny, and there’s nothing to watch on Netflix. He spends so long scrolling through Instagram, it tells him ‘ _You’re all caught up!_ ’ He didn’t even know that was still possible.

“We could watch some Buzzfeed Unsolved?” Toothiana suggests. It’s mid-afternoon in New York, and she’s at Starbucks drinking _a venti soy caramel macchiato with whipped cream and sprinkles, thanks!_ She’s got her tablet propped up on a stand, the rest of the café behind her. “Oooh, you know what I’ve been meaning to watch? The Swan Princess. Did you ever watch that as a kid? Princess is a human but she turns into a swan for some reason. I can’t remember the specifics, but I think there was a turtle called Speedy…”

Jack’s got his earphones in because it’s late here — ‘ _arse o’clock_ ’ as Pitch likes to call it. He’s asleep down the hall, probably snoring and taking up the entire bed with his octopus limbs. When Tooth called, he said a polite hello, only to immediately say goodnight when Tooth asked Jack to move the laptop so she could see his chest better. Jack can’t blame her for trying. He’d probably do the same.

“Hey…” Jack starts, only to stop. Maybe it’d be weird to ask. “Nevermind.”

“Mm mm,” she tuts, swallowing. “What’s up? Why do you look all weird?”

“Your face looks weird,” Jack replies. Maybe this isn’t the kind of conversation they should have while Tooth is in a Starbucks. “I’ll DM you later.”

“No, no, it’s cool,” she insists, tapping the cup of her headphones. “Shoot for the moon, kiddo.”

Jack sits up properly, balancing the laptop on the armrest. He crosses his legs, leaning sideways on the couch. “You’ve, uh, you’ve slept with someone before, right?”

They’ve talked about this before. Sometimes just in passing, and sometimes in long chunks of text that fill up each other’s phone screens. It’s how they ended up being friends to start with. He knows Tooth is really open about it. Even if, for Jack, it feels too raw, like someone is peeling his skin back and have a poke around inside.

“I mean, yeah, but only, like, two people, and it was a million years ago,” Tooth says easily, tilting her head. “Why? Are you — ” Her eyes narrow. “Is Pitch asking you to do something you don’t want to do?”

“Jesus, no,” Jack laughs, shaking his head. “It’s kind of the opposite, actually.”

“Wait, so…” Tooth tilts her head the other way. “ _You’re_ asking _Pitch_ to do things _he_ doesn’t want to do?”

“Kind of? No. Not really. Ugh.” Jack hates talking about this out loud. This really would’ve been easier if he just waited to DM her. “Is it really invasive if I ask... what it’s like for you?”

“No, silly, it’s cool,” she waves off. “There’s not much to say though. I just don’t really like it. I mean, it’s not repulsive to me — you’ll have to ask Bunny about that kind of stuff — but I guess it’s not my thing, y’know? Like, how some people are really into feet. No shame, no shade, it’s just —” She shrugs with her whole body, throwing her hands up, like the emoji. “— not my thing.”

She makes it sound so easy. She makes it sound so _normal_. Like Jack’s not a program with a glitch, or a poorly-built robot with multiple parts missing. Like there isn’t a _lack_. Like, it just is what it is.

“I think maybe Pitch…” Jack tries to find the right words. “He doesn’t want to push too far, so he pulls back instead. And that’s — It’s fine, but I feel bad that he has to do that. It’s the least I could do, and when I say that, he looks at me like —” Jack gestures vaguely. “Sorry, that didn’t make any sense.”

“I know what you mean,” she says. “I mean, for us, it’s like ‘hey, here’s this nice thing that I want to do for you,’ but for them, it’s like, ‘no way I’m making you, like, commit treason against your own body, I’m not a _monster_ ,’ and it’s hard to explain there’s bits you don’t like but there’s bits you do, so you still can, and sometimes you still want to. It can be a big deal, but it can be whatever too.”

“Yeah,” Jack sags. That’s pretty much what it is. He’s tried to explain that to Pitch before, but it’s like they’re from different planets when it comes to this.

“I don’t think there’s an eloquent way to put it,” Tooth says, sounding apologetic. “‘ _I don’t want to smash, but I do._ ’”

Jack laughs, his throat seizing, making him cough, throat swollen and thick with mucus. “Sorry, I’m so gross right now.”

“You’re not contagious, are you?” she teases, making a cross with her fingers.

“Do you ever wish you were normal though?” Jack asks, leaning his head against the back of the couch. “Everything would be so much easier.”

“Sometimes,” she nods, a wry quirk to her mouth. “But y’know, I probably wouldn’t have met you or Bunny or Sandy. And when I think about it… I don’t know if I’d be the same person, and I like who I am.”

Jack smiles. He’s not sure he can relate to that, but. “I like who you are too.”

“As you should,” she winks. “I need to visit the little fairies room, but after that, you wanna watch cartoons?”

“Sure,” Jack says, easy. “Fair warning: I might fall asleep on you.”

“Oh Jack,” Tooth giggles. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

#

The night before Jack’s back at work, he lounges about in bed, half-heartedly scrolling through his timeline, while Pitch reads something really boring-looking on his laptop.

They had ravioli for dinner, and Jack joked about how it was like their first date all over again — except one of them was looking a tad bit greyer. Pitch replied by trapping him against the fridge and sucking an angry red mark into the side of his neck. When Jack looked up at him, cheeks hot, heart pounding, Pitch just raised an eyebrow and told him to get the cutlery.

Jack knows he’s feeling better because now there’s this restlessness in his bones. If Pitch suggested they go for a stroll, Jack would be dressed in a heartbeat. But Jack knows it's not going to happen; Pitch is in comfy mode: shirtless, in his reading glasses, cup of tea on the bedside table, immersed in whatever cybersecurity thingy he’s reading.

It’s terribly domestic, and it makes Jack’s heart swell ten times too big for his ribcage, squashing his lungs. Apropos of nothing, he says, “I love you.”

“I’m not getting your headphones for you.”

Jack snickers, leaning up to kiss Pitch on the shoulder. They haven’t kissed in forever. Jack’s not sure if it was an intentional decision on Pitch’s part, in order to avoid infection, or if Pitch just wasn’t sure Jack wanted him to. Or if maybe it’s just gross, kissing someone who’s sniffly and filled with goo. When he flops back onto his back, Pitch tangles his fingers into Jack’s hair, gently scritching at his scalp.

“Thank you,” Jack says, closing his eyes. “For making sure I don’t drown in my own mucus.”

“Truly, Jack, you wax such poetry,” Pitch says. “It’s a wonder the children study Shakespeare when your words hold depths that rival the Pacific Ocean.”

Jack smiles, but he’s not sure how to explain himself better. How does he eloquently verbalise his gratitude? How is he supposed to show Pitch how grateful he is, for everything he’s done — continues to do? He has no idea. They’ve been together so long, but they’re always coming across new territory, but only for Jack — Pitch has already been here, already knows the terrain.

“I’ve never had someone take care of me while I’m sick,” Jack says, holding his phone to his chest. The hand in his hair stills.

Jack doesn’t want pity or even to talk about it, really. He just wants Pitch to know.

“I’m grateful.”

“That’s kind of you to say,” Pitch says, voice soft. “But entirely unnecessary. You would do the same, had our circumstances been reversed.”

And, yeah. Okay. That’s true.

#

@LastLight favourited your tweet: _Back to work tomorrow!_

@LastLight replied to your tweet: _@JackFrost glad ur feeling better :)_

@sandyman mentioned you in a tweet: _@JackFrost [img]_

@BunnyMund mentioned you in a tweet: _@sandyman @JackFrost jfc sandy wtf is that??????_

#

When he’s finally back in the office, there’s a vase of flowers and box of chocolates at his desk. Sandy’s such a giant sweetheart; Jack’s really gotta stop sending him crying cat memes at three in the morning.

He’s just posted a photo of the gifts to his Stories when he notices there’s a card tucked in between the flowers. The front says GET WELL SOON and the inside reads:

_Jack,_

_Heard you were feeling under the weather._

_Jinn_

Jack stares.

It’s… It’s probably supposed to be a nice gesture. And not some creepy warning or something. But it is creepy, right? They met for two seconds at an award ceremony Jack went to as a plus one. As _Pitch’s_ plus one. How did he even know Jack was sick?

Good mood dampening fast, Jack taps over to the LinkedIn app, and yep, there’s that request he was promised. To be fair, it looks like Jinn is connected to the majority of Sanderson Industries’ payroll. Still.

Jack taps over to the messenger app and types a message to Pitch. “ _Dude. Your tech friend sent me flowers at work_?”

The reply doesn’t come until mid-morning, when Jack’s waist-deep in emails.

“ _No jewellery?_ ” Pitch’s text reads. “ _He’s losing his touch_.”

Jack rolls his eyes. Pitch can be such an ass sometimes. But… Well. If he isn’t worried, then Jack shouldn’t be worried.

Throughout the day, Jack shares the probably-not-poisoned chocolates with everyone who passes his desk. The box is gone by lunchtime. The flowers, he leaves in the kitchen, by the window. He’s not in the office all the time, but hopefully someone will water them on days he’s out.

When he gets home, before he's even kicked off his shoes, Pitch's voice comes from the kitchen. “Did you pick up the milk?”

Half-way out of his coat, Jack freezes. Was he supposed to get milk? He pulls his phone out his back pocket and yep, there’s a text from Pitch, timestamped two hours ago.

There’s also, sandwiched between InstaStory reactions and Twitter replies, a notification from LinkedIn.

“ _Dinner, sometime? My treat_.”

“Seriously, what the fuck?” Jack says to the screen.

Pitch sticks his head out the kitchen, eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your pal Jinn just asked me out for dinner — via _LinkedIn_.” Jack hangs his coat up, kicking his shoes off. He passes the phone to Pitch, who wipes his hands on his apron before taking it. “Who even uses the messaging feature on LinkedIn?”

“Tell him to take you to _Alain Ducasse_ at The Dorchester,” he says, squinting at the screen. 

“Is this just something he does? Ask randos out for dinner?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” Pitch replies, handing the phone back. “I haven’t the slightest what goes through his head.”

Pitch is definitely being weird about this. They didn’t go to the same university, like Jack suspected (he checked on Jinn’s profile, and then again on Wikpedia, just in case) but their paths have definitely crossed at some point. There’s gotta be history there.

“It doesn’t bother you he’s bugging me to hang out?” Jack asks, following Pitch into the kitchen. “Ooh, quinoa.” He takes his phone out and takes a boomerang of Pitch spooning their food into bowls. “Do we have any of that elderflower stuff left?”

“No, but there’s an unopened bottle of juniper and tonic in the cupboard.”

“What the heck is juniper and tonic,” Jack asks, going to search for it.

“Seraphina bought it last year.”

Jack cracks the bottle open, pours a bit out into a glass and gives it a sniff. Sweet. Bit floral. “Oh, it’s nice. Want some?”

“Wine, please. White.”

“Bottle out?”

“Absolutely.”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice. You totally ignored my question,” Jack says, half-way through dinner. “It doesn't bother you that your friend is basically asking me out on a date?”

“He’s not my friend,” Pitch replies. “Besides, if someone were to ask me out, would that bother you?”

“ _If_ —” Jack laughs. “Pitch, people ask you out, like, on a weekly basis. That cute barista at Costa writes her number on your cup every time we’re there.”

“Mm hm,” Pitch says, around a swallow. “And that bothers you?”

Oh. “Dunno,” Jack frowns. It’s different though. Pitch is attractive and he’s got the whole liquid-gold-voice thing going on; of course, he’s going to have people interested in him. “Not really.”

“Jealousy is a crass emotion,” Pitch says, sipping at his wine. “I’m not so fragile as to believe your affection for another would threaten your feelings towards me.”

Jack blinks. He tries to translate it in his head, because Pitch-speak is bizarre sometimes. “You’re saying… it wouldn’t bother you if I went out with someone – and developed feelings for them?”

“You love Seraphina. You love Jamie. Your odd little ‘pocket friends’, as you like to call them,” Pitch says, refilling his wine. “It would hardly be realistic of me to think you won’t meet new people and develop emotional connections with them.”

“Yeah, but that’s different,” Jack argues. This conversation has taken a very unexpected turn and Jack’s not sure he likes where they’ve ended up.

“The love we have for one person is never the same as the love we have for another,” Pitch says. It sounds like a 2013 Tumblr post, and in any other context, Jack would make fun of him. “If you want to love someone else, Jack, I would not be so cruel as to take that from you.”

That’s… That’s nice and all, but Jack doesn’t know if he would be able to say the same. If Pitch were to go out with someone else, fall in love with them, Jack doesn’t know if he could handle that. Even now, he doesn’t really understand what Pitch is doing here with him.

“You should go,” Pitch says. He’s finished eating, nursing the last of his wine, waiting for Jack. “Order a bottle of Burgundy. Smuggle it home in your coat.”

Maybe it’s easy for Pitch to feel this way, when he’s the one with less to lose. He could throw a rock and find another Jack — a better Jack.

But, for Jack, there’s only one Pitch.

“I dunno,” Jack says, poking a chickpea with his spoon. “I’ll think about it.”

#

@Toothiana favourited your tweet: _Do you ever think about how weird love is? Like, here’s a person I think is neat and want to make happy_

@Toothiana favourited your tweet: _Pitch made coconut curry and quinoa for dinner [img]_

@Toothiana replied to your tweet: _@JackFrost ilu_

@BunnyMund replied to your tweet: _@JackFrost oi drop the recipe u stinge_

@LastLight replied to your tweet: _@JackFrost hope u saved me some :*)_


	3. old flames meet new

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter warnings: cannibalism jokes, drug mention, smoking mention, alcohol, blood]

“Do I just say, ‘sorry, not interested?’ It sounds so… rude.”

“Ugh, why are old people like this. Just don’t reply. Problem solved.”

“I’m not going to _ghost_ him.”

“Why not? I ghost people all the time. It’s not my fault if you’re boring and don’t know how to hold my attention.”

“Yeah, but he’s your dad’s friend. Or colleague? I don’t know. Seems rude."

"Being rude is highly underrated. You should try it sometime."

Seraphina originally called asking Jack to ask Pitch to book her a dentist appointment for when she’s back over Christmas, but Pitch is asleep, and even if he wasn’t, the office won’t be open for another six hours. So Jack asked if anything was new, and Seraphina told him she’s thinking of dying her undercut pink, and now, somehow, they’re talking about Jinn.

“Dad’s right though,” she says, popping a crisp in her mouth. “Would it be _that_ weird to go get dinner with some rich guy? I mean, all the kids here say rich people are unethical and we should eat them, so like, if anything, the right thing to do would be to murder him and devour his flesh.”

“Please don’t bring cannibalism into our conversations,” Jack pleads, stretching his legs out under the kitchen table. “Cannibalism and vore are banned.”

“It’s like when guys on Bumble wanna buy me a burrito,” Seraphina continues, examining her nails. “I’m not asking them to buy me a burrito, and I’m not promising attention in return for a burrito. But if they wish to gift me a burrito, then by all means, don’t forget the guacamole.”

“I didn’t know you were on Bumble,” Jack blinks.

“Hells yeah,” she cheers. “I’ve met some wicked peeps through the good ol’ bee app. Last semester I had IHOP breakfast with this girl who makes taxidermy Furbies. She had a septum piercing and it really made me think about the gendered connotations of body modification.”

“Okay, there’s a lot to unpack there,” Jack says, slowly. Although… When she puts it like that. Yeah. It’s just sharing a meal. “You think it’s possible he just wants to learn about youth culture?”

“Tell him unicorns, zombies, and cultural appropriate are out. Oh, but I heard vampires are making a comeback. Hey, have you seen the new Harry Styles MV? He’s so pretty it disgusts me.”

“You _really_ don’t think it’s strange he knows your dad, but only wants to have dinner with _me_?” Jack asks. “Why didn’t he ask both of us to dinner?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, my tiny jackalope, but father dearest is not exactly the most pleasant person to socialise with.”

Jack gapes. If it were anyone else saying that, he might be offended, because it's _blatantly untrue_. Pitch is an absolute _delight_. Okay — well, sometimes, he’s really rude, and last year at Sandy’s Christmas party he left a wrapped box of spiders under the tree. But for the most part, he’s _really_ quite nice to be around.

“Mm hm, remember the first time Jamie stayed for Christmas, dad casually listed the five lethal poisons that can be cooked in a kitchen, then immediately offered Jamie an illegal beer?”

“Jamie’s studying biochemistry!” Jack argues. “And he was eighteen, which is the legal drinking age in this country.”

“Yeah, that’s not what biochemistry is about,” Seraphina says. “What I’m saying is, daddy-dear has very sharp teeth and his friend is probably just scared he’ll have his head bitten off.”

“Seraphina,” Jack pleads.

“That’s not a reference to cannibalism, Jack. It’s just a thing people say,” she snipes. “Anyway, do you like _Adore You_ or _Fine Line_ better? As a song, not just the lyrics.”

Jack sighs. He doesn’t know why he bothers, sometimes.

“ _Adore You_ , obviously.”

#

[LastLight] posted a new photo

[SeraSeraKuromi] tagged you in a story

@sandyman favourited your tweet: _Think I should go to dinner with @DjinniRobot’s CEO? Apparently he wants to ‘pick my brain’ lol_

@sandyman replied to your tweet: _@JackFrost_ _ʕ •ᴥ• ʔ_

#

For a Michelin star restaurant, the place is pretty empty; the only other patrons are sitting at the bar. Jack surrenders his parker at the front desk. He came straight from work, so he’s in a hoody and capris. Jinn’s in a deep emerald suit, crisp white button-up, and Jack, for the life of him, can’t remember why he’s agreed to come.

“Wine?”

“No, uh, I don’t drink.” Jack says, thinking briefly of Pitch asking him to smuggle a bottle home. “Water’s fine.”

“Oh, apologies,” Jinn says, drumming his fingers on the table. “Sparkling?”

“Er, just tap, thanks.”

Apparently the restaurant doesn’t serve tap water, only purified spring water… from a melted Norwegian iceberg. It’s completely indistiguishable from the water Jack gets from the water cooler at work.

“Really… refreshing,” Jack comments, inwardly cringing. This is worse than when he goes to those ‘networking conferences’ at London Tech week. Awkwardly, he puts the glass back on the tablecloth. “So, um, the weather’s a bit… wet.”

“How British of you to say,” Jinn smiles. His teeth are very straight and very white. “How long have been here for?”

“Oh, uh, seven, eight years now, I think? I came over from the states to do my Masters.”

“Is that how you met Kozmotis? At the university?”

Jack pauses. “Sort of. It’s a long story.”

“I’m in no hurry,” Jinn says, pleasantly.

That’s — Okay. “He saved my life outside a Sainsbury’s by knocking out three men with a jug of two-percent milk,” Jack says. “Not a long story, actually."

Jinn blinks rapidly, and right when Jack thinks he’s going to call bullshit, he bursts out laughing. It’s more of a low, gruff chuckle, but it’s a surprised sound of amusement all the same.

“I apologise, it's just... Interestingly, that’s also how I met him.”

Jack tilts his head. “Sorry?”

“Close enough.” Jinn waves a hand. “I was supposed to be speaking at the Annual CWF Symposium in LA. This will be, god, a good fifteen? Twenty years ago? It was my first time on a stage, and I was about to have kittens.”

Jack’s still not used to that colloquialism. “You were nervous?”

“Absolutely bricking it,” Jinn nods. “I popped out for a smoke, just to calm my nerves — and _whaddyaknow_ locked myself out on the roof.”

“Oh shit.”

“No mobile phone, no fire alarm to pull — nothing. Long story short, I scaled the Four Seasons, ended up interrupting a drug bust gone wrong, and if weren’t for Kozmotis, who just _happened_ to be in the room next door — skipping out on my speech, I might add — I’d probably be dead.”

“I’m…” Jack wants to laugh, because it’s so _absurd_. It’s definitely something out of a movie, or a BBC miniseries at the very least. “There’s no way that’s true.”

“Swear on my life,” Jinn says, placing a hand to his chest. “Haven’t smoked a cigarette since.”

Huh. Well. It’s not like there’d be a point to Jinn lying, when Jack can just ask Pitch to verify it later. It’s surreal though, remembering Pitch has all these stories from his past, that he’s never told Jack about. Pitch has always been secretive about what he used to do, and Jack’s never been the kind to push for more than he’s given.

“You kept in touch though, after that,” Jack points out. 

“We were very close for a while,” Jinn nods. “I travel a lot, and I can get quite distracted with work. I struggle to maintain relationships.”

Their food is served in these tiny little glass cups on really big ceramic plates. It’s not like the movies where there’s thirty different forks and spoons to choose from; the waitstaff bring out new cutlery with every dish, so no one (Jack) can make any mistakes.

“Would it be rude if I took a photo for Instagram?” Jack asks.

“Not at all. Go right ahead,” Jinn smiles. “I’ve never met a food blogger, if I'm honest.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t call myself a blogger. My friend Tooth is though,” he explains, mostly for something to say. “She’s going to… eat this up.”

It’s a terrible joke. Jinn doesn’t laugh, but he does study Jack quite closely, like Jack is puzzling, somehow. Probably wondering how he’s made it this far in life.

The food turns out to be an assortment of miscellaneous textures. Jack can’t place the flavours in any of the cups, but each one has a distinct mouth-feel. Crunchy-wet. Oily-thick. Fluffy-chilled. Tooth would have a field day.

“How long have you and Kozmotis been an item?”

Jack almost spits out his food. He wipes his mouth on his napkin. “Sorry?”

“You’re together, right?” Jinn says, swirling his wine thoughtfully and looking disturbingly similar to a Bond villain. “I heard his wife passed quite a while ago. I had been wondering if he’d found someone else.”

 _Jesus_. Jack gets that this guy has like, weird history with Pitch, but he’s starting to grate on Jack’s nerves. “I mean, I live with him and his daughter, if that’s what you mean.”

Jinn’s eyes light up, like Jack’s just mentioned Christmas. “How is Seraphina? Oh, she’d be in her late teens now, wouldn’t she? I haven’t seen her since she was a baby.”

 _Seriously_ , Jack stares. _Who the hell is this guy?_

“Why don’t you ask him to tell you?” Jack says, quietly. “No offence, but I’m a little uncomfortable with you asking me to dinner just to talk about Pitch, when you really could’ve just asked him here and talked to him yourself.”

Jinn’s light goes out in a flash. He drums his fingers on the table, looking away. “My apologies. I’m… I’m not very good at this. Practice makes perfect they say, but — ah, some things just don’t come naturally.”

“Good at what?” Jack asks. He’s so confused.

“Dinner, conversation,” Jinn says, waving a hand. “Making friends. ‘Connecting’, as the kids say.”

“I’m — ” Jack is stunned into silence for a second time. “Did you seriously ask me here to try and be friends with me? Why? Why the hell do you want to be friends with _me_?”

Jinn tilts his head, like it’s the most bizarre question Jack could’ve asked. “Kozmotis is particular about the company he keeps. I figured you must make good company.”

“Then why do you keep trying to get me to give you information about Pitch?”

“It’s what you do isn’t it?” Jinn frowns. “Talk about common interests.”

Jack stares. “And the flowers and the chocolates? That was you trying to be my friend?”

“I told Sanderson I met a Jack Frost, and he told me you were out with a cold, so I thought it might be a nice gesture.” Jinn says, eyebrows furrowing. “My apologies. Was that inappropriate?”

Jack groans, running a hand over his face. “Well, I mean, for one thing, Sandy’s technically my boss so he probably shouldn’t have told you that — but I mean, I tweeted about it, so I guess it wasn’t exactly a secret.” He rubs at his eyes, flinching in surprise when it hurts. Are his eyes swollen? When’s the last time he slept?

“Sorry, I was overthinking this, and ended up making a lot of assumptions about you I shouldn’t have.” He blinks at Jinn, trying to remember the original question.

It occurs to Jack quite suddenly, that he’s exhausted. He can feel it, his brain starting to shut down. Reflexively, he chomps down fiercely on his tongue, until he draws blood. He must breathe in wrong or maybe he still hasn't fully recovered from the flu, because he coughs, lungs contracting, blood speckling the table.

“Are you alright, Jack?” Jinn asks, getting out of his seat.

Jack shakes his head. They’re in the middle of dinner, in the middle of a _conversation_. “Yeah, this just… happens sometimes.” He goes to grab his phone off the table, but his hand slips, sending it cluttering to the floor and his shoulder smashing into the table edge.

“Can you…” Jack’s head bangs onto his empty plate, but it doesn’t hurt. It feels quite nice, actually.

“Jack? No, excuse me, could I have some help here, please?”

 _Call Pitch_ , Jack thinks. _Please call Pitch._

Then, nothing.

#

Before he's opened his eyes, Jack knows he’s in bed at home. He can smell the _Comfort Intense_ lavender fabric softener. He can feel the IKEA pillow under his head. He can hear the light tappity-tap of Pitch typing away on his laptop next to him.

“What time s’it?” Jack mumbles.

“Just gone one.”

Jack rolls over, rubbing the blur out of his eyes. He had the most vivid dream about standing on the edge of a cloud, knowing he could fly, but being convinced he would fall.

Pitch must have changed Jack’s clothes, because he's in an oversized shirt and clean boxers, his hoodie and trousers no where to be seen. He hopes someone remembered to get his parker because that thing was like twenty quid at Primark.

“How'd I get home?”

“ _Apres la Pluie_ called,” Pitch says, without looking away from his screen. “It would seem my reputation as human-body-removal service precedes me.”

“At least you got a chance to sneak a bottle of Burgundy,” Jack yawns, stretching his arms over his head, accidentally punching Pitch in the arm.

“Alas, it was you or the wine.”

"Not sure you made the right choice there." Jack pats clumsily at the bedside table for his phone. “I better message Jinn and apologise.”

“I had a word with him,” Pitch says, closing his laptop and setting it down on the floor. “There’s nothing to apologise for.”

There’s a bunch of reactions to his Stories, couple of tweets from Bunny about some new game, but nothing from Jinn on LinkedIn.

“I thought he was, like, your ex or something,” Jack confesses, locking his phone. “I figured he was trying to find a way to cut me out of the picture so he could swoop in and steal you back. I left location services on just in case he decided to kidnap me after dinner.”

“I really do admire that wild imagination of yours,” Pitch says, scooping Jack in his arms and nudging him onto his side. He noses against Jack’s neck, making him shiver.

“I know you had a life before you met me,” Jack protests. “It’s not _that_ wild to think you’ve been in love with other people.”

“I have,” Pitch confirms, with a hum. “Just the one.”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Jack waits for Pitch to continue, but he doesn’t, content with leaving it at that. “You don’t talk about her much.” It’s an observation more than anything else. “I mean — That’s okay. Obviously.”

“Does it bother you?”

“No? Maybe. I don’t know,” Jack frowns. “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t. Seraphina talks about her sometimes, so I just thought… I don’t know what I thought.”

He presses a kiss to Jack’s nape. “You thought perhaps I was holding back to spare your feelings.”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “Something like that.”

“I’m afraid you think too highly of me,” Pitch replies. “Some wounds take longer to heal than others. I am not strong enough to fight that battle quite yet.”

Jack can understand that. After all, he has his own demons he needs to deal with. Pitch pulls away, and Jack stiffens, thinking he wants to see his face, but all he does is turn the lights off, pull the sheets over the both of them.

In the darkness, it’s easier to pretend this moment isn’t real, that this a dream. It makes him feel a little braver. A little reckless.

“I worry sometimes,” Jack says, staring into the pitch black room. “That I’m not enough for you.”

“I know,” Pitch says.

“Don’t you ever wish I was normal though?” Jack asks, lightly. He huffs out a soft laugh, just to take the sting out of it. “I mean, if we’re being honest, half the time _I_ wish I was normal.”

“I want you, exactly as you are,” Pitch murmurs. “If I could change anything about you, Jack, I would change nothing.”

Jack presses his face into the pillow, there’s a heavy weight on his chest, a pressure pulsating hotly behind his eyes. He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve Pitch. He has no idea. If he knew, he’d do it over and over.

“It just feels like I’m getting more out of this than you,” Jack mumbles. “It’s like I keep taking more and giving less back, and — ”

“Love is not something you have to earn,” Pitch interrupts, and he sounds terribly sad — like the fact Jack doesn’t understand this is breaking his heart. “The way I feel about you does not come with strings attached. I am here, for as long as you want me.”

He says that, but Jack doesn’t think it works like that in the real world. People get frustrated, fed up, _tired_. Dreams don’t last forever. Eventually, Pitch is going to wake up and realise, this isn’t working. This isn’t enough.

 _Jack_ isn’t enough.

A warm hand covers his own, and Jack is glad Pitch can’t see his face, can’t see how even that gesture makes him crumble and shake.

“How I wish, Jack, that I could take this fear from you,” Pitch says. “Shoulder it so you don’t have to.”

Even that wouldn’t be fair. That’s not Pitch’s job — to convince Jack which nightmares are real and which he’s dreamed up himself. This isn’t a fight Pitch should have to win for him.

This battle, Jack has to fight on his own.

#

You have an unread message from Djinni Robot: _I’m in Tokyo next week, but I can do first week December._

_#_

“I’ve never been here before,” Jinn says. “What delightful decor. Are you quite sure one burrito will be enough? If money is an issue, you don't need to worry.”

They’re in the Wahaca in Islington, which is a pretty decent step up from the Chipotle in Covent Garden for someone like Jack. It’s clearly on the same level for someone like Jinn though, who, when asked if he would like a drink with his meal, asked the waitstaff, “ _What does the chef recommend_?”

“I eat like a bird,” Jack explains. “And seriously, tonight’s on me. I wanted to make it up to you. Consider it my, uh, belated apology. I mean, not about the —” He gestures at himself. “But I was pretty rude, and that’s not cool.”

“If I believed every person who was rude to me owed me a meal…” Jinn laughs. “I do appreciate the gesture, however. Thank you for inviting me out.”

They get to chatting. Despite being in tech, they’re from vastly different fields. Jack’s all about social media and customer support. Most of what Jinn deals with day-to-day is design and development — though it sounds like he was involved with hacking at some point, the same way Pitch was.

“Was he really different back then?” Jack asks. He can’t fit in dessert, so he’s ordered a virgin mojito, mostly to have something to do with his hands while Jinn eats his flan, poking at the ice with his straw. He really wants to check his phone but doesn’t want to be rude.

“I don’t really know what he’s like now,” Jinn says, wry smile. “He was a menace, truth be told. Determined to sabotage every new security system before it could even make its debut. I remember the time we were in Moscow and these officers came barging into our room, with swear-on-my-life _machine guns._ Turns out Kozmotis had, shall we say, ‘accidentally’ opened the gates to some nasty little viruses on the computer of a very important, very _rich_ man _._ ”

“I — You both went to Moscow?” Jack had no idea Pitch had even been to Russia. “For a conference or something?”

“Lord no,” he laughs. “Although, I suppose that would have been a better use of our time. We never did have much luck with anything else.

Jack blinks. It’s obvious what Jinn is implying, but there have been too many misunderstandings between them so far for Jack to be comfortable assuming. How did Jinn put it? “You were together,” Jack clarifies. “An item.”

Jinn pauses, the smallest puddle of flan left in the middle of the plate. “I wouldn’t say that. ” He’s still smiling, but there’s a sadness there, one that Jack would recognise anywhere.

Jinn _is_ an ex, no matter what Pitch thinks.

Unless — Unless Pitch just didn’t know?

It sounds absurd, because Pitch is the most observant person Jack’s ever met. It’s like he knows everything — the answers to questions Jack didn’t even know he wanted to ask.

“What happened?” Jack asks, only to backtrack. “Shit, sorry. This is none of my business.”

“No, no, I’m sure Kozmotis will tell you if you ask,” Jinn says.

Jack shrugs. He probably would, but Jack doesn't like to pry. What happened between Pitch and Jinn is between them. If Pitch thought it was important for Jack to know about their relationship, he would’ve said something.

“In retrospect, we weren’t the best fit,” Jinn says. “There were things Kozmotis needed that I was unable to give, regardless how hard I tried.”

“Oh,” Jack says, blinking. The words spark a sharp sting in his chest, a cut freshly reopened.

“Relationships aren’t something that come naturally to me,” Jinn says. “There are… _emotional requirements_ , that I understand in theory, but struggle with in practice.”

Jack doesn’t really know what he means, but he understands what it’s like to want to be the perfect person for someone. To want to give them everything — even things you don’t have. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh no, it’s something I came to terms with a long time ago,” Jinn says. “What is it Sanderson says? It’s hard to see the bigger picture, when you’re focusing on a pixel.”

Jack has never heard Sandy anything remotely as long or wise as that, but he understands. It’s easy to get lost in someone — especially someone like Pitch.

“You miss him,” Jack says. The ice in his glass has melted and mixed with the lime and the mint and the juice, creating a faint honey-coloured gradient. All of it, entangled. If Jack wanted pull it all apart again, he wouldn’t be able to. “Most of my friends live far away, so I know what it’s like to miss someone, but that’s… I don’t know how I would handle something like that.”

What he means to say is, he doesn’t know how he’d cope with the loss of Pitch not wanting him anymore. It’d be like Seraphina moving away, permanently, and deleting all her social media. It’d be like Toothiana blocking him on Twitter, deleting him off Facebook. It would sound trivial if Jack said it out loud, but he knows he’s not wrong. They’re his family. They’re a fundamental part of him and Jack has no idea what he would do with himself if they left — how he would manage to pick himself up with the weight of that grief.

“He was an important part of my life, and we were very close for a while,” Jinn nods. It seems he’s given up on the last bit of his dessert, pushing his plate to the side. “But, you know, Jack, I’ve learned there are always new friends to be made, and new adventures to be had. Life has a surprising way of taking you on paths you had no idea you needed to travel.”

Jack smiles. He likes Jinn. He’s a little eccentric, and they don’t have all that much in common, but he’s a good guy. They could be friends, if they tried. Hell, it took Jack a while to warm up to Bunny too, and now he can’t imagine life without him.

“This was really nice,” Jack says, after they’ve paid, the both of them lingering outside. “We should do it again sometime.”

“I’m afraid I can be dreadful at 'keeping connected', as you might say,” Jinn says, with a rue smile. “I travel often, and am far too easily swept up in the flurry of work.”

“Dude, it’s fine,” Jack laughs. “I have plenty of friends I never see. Which reminds me, I know you’re super set on using LinkedIn, but…” He offers his phone out, for Jinn to bump his own against. Both their screens light up, vibrating on contact. “You can hit me up, anytime, any platform.”

#

@Toothiana replied to your tweet: _@JackFrost Ahhhh! Jack that burrito looks AMAZING! If I can ever afford to go visit, you have to bring me here!!_

@sandyman replied to your tweet: _@JackFrost (_ ◉◞౪◟◉ _)_

@BunnyMund replied to your tweet: _@thesandyman @JackFrost seriously mate what the hell is that face_

_#_

_Djinni “Jinn” Robot has sent you a friend request._


	4. paris in the rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter warnings: verbal abuse, smoking, internalised ace-antagonism/ace-phobia, grief/mourning]

“There she is,” Pitch says, patting Jack on the shoulder in what Jack can only describe as _Pitch-esque excitement_. Holding his phone out, Jack taps record.

“ _Daddy!_ ” Seraphina squeals. She leaves her bags in the middle of the arrivals gate so she can gallop over — wearing an honest-to-god horse costume. She hops the metal rail in one jump, Pitch _just_ managing to catching her in his arms, and keep them both upright.

“Seraphina, light of my life,” Pitch grunts, supporting her weight. “As much as I appreciate your antics, I’m not as fit as I used to be.”

“Been skipping leg day, papa?” she gasps, pulling away. “For shame.” She kisses both his cheeks before unwrapping her legs from his torso and climbing down. She turns to Jack with a wicked grin. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favourite fruit loaf.”

“Did you really wear that on the plane?” Jack laughs, shoving his phone in his pocket and going in for a quick hug. “I’ll go grab your bag.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Jamie will get it,” she waves off. “Daddy, can we get an Uber or do we have to take the train?”

_Jamie?_

Jack turns to see another person in a horse costume, struggling to hold his own bags and take on Seraphina’s too. “No way,” Jack breathes, climbing the railing and jogging over. He almost bowls Jamie over in a hug. “I didn’t know you were coming this year.”

Jamie beams from under the horse head, cheeks pink. “Hiya Jack! Oh, excuse me —” A family of four hover awkwardly behind them, trying to get through. 

“Seriously, you should’ve told me you were coming!” Jack grins, helping wheel the bags towards the exit. “I just sent your Christmas present off to your mom’s last week.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Jamie scolds, though he’s smiling. They both know, after everything Jamie’s done for Jack, there’s no way he’s not sending him a present on his favourite holiday.

“Is your mom cool with you spending Christmas here?”

“Sort of.” He tries to blow his fringe out of his face, but with the hood of the horse-costume in the way, it just flops over his nose again. “We were home for Thanksgiving, so hopefully she’s not too mad.”

“She’s got Sophie with her though, right?”

“Yeah! Oh, man, did I tell you? Sophie got a tattoo!”

“ _No way_. That’s so awesome. What’d she get?”

They get chatting about Sophie, then classes, then dorm-room horror stories, all the way to the taxi rank. This’ll be Jamie’s third time staying with them, and Jack’s excited for the both of them to hang out at all their favourite museums and bookstores. Maybe they’ll go ice-skating at some point. He can’t remember the place they went to last year, but a bit of Googling will find it.

It’s all going really well; they’re all in the cab, Pitch up front with the driver, the rest of them loaded in the back. Jack chatting away trying to catch Jamie up on what’s new with Sandy and work.

Then, from the middle seat, Seraphina announces, “Soooo, a bit of news. Jamie and I got hitched.”

#

Jamie’s still in his horse costume, but Jack’s never seen someone look so sheepish before. He’s nursing the hot chocolate Jack made him, trying to get the marshmallow to disintegrate entirely.

“I guess that explains why you’re spending Christmas here this year,” Jack says, trying to break the awkward silence. 

The entire cab ride was filled with the most horrifying silence possible. Every time Seraphina opened her mouth to speak, Pitch would wordlessly hold up a hand, and the silence would continue.

The moment they got in, Pitch asked, very sweetly, if he could please have a word with his daughter.

They’re in Seraphina’s room. Not shouting or screaming. Which can only mean Pitch is _livid_.

Jamie tries for a smile, and Jack almost wants to laugh. This whole thing feels like something out of a Christmas movie.

“Congratulations are in order, I guess,” Jack says. That’s what people say, right? When someone gets married?

Jamie sighs. “We agreed to wait until after Christmas Day to tell you guys, just in case… Well. You know.” He gestures vaguely towards Seraphina’s room, and yeah. Jack knows.

“It’s not that Pitch doesn’t like you,” Jack thinks it’s worth stating. “He’s probably just… uh, surprised.”

For some reason, it came as a shock to him too, even though it probably shouldn’t have. Jamie and Seraphina have been together since they were fifteen and soon they’ll both be in their twenties. It’s not _that_ strange. He just.. Well. If he’s honest, he kind of forgot marriage was a thing people do.

“We didn’t even plan it, really,” Jamie pleads, like he’s desperate to explain himself to Jack of all people — like he’s worried _Jack Frost_ is going to be disappointed in him. “It just sort of happened.”

“Hey,” Jack says, reaching a hand across the table. “It’s gonna be alright.” He waits until Jamie meets his gaze to flash a grin. “I mean, I’m a little bummed you didn’t send me photos, but, this is cool right? You’re _married!_ Did someone propose, or was it like, one of those Grown Up Adult discussions?”

“It’s actually the most incredible thing,” Jamie says. He does smile then, this soft, starry sort of smile. He digs his hand into his costume, pulling out his phone. “We were at the aquarium with some of our friends, and they all knew I was gonna ask her. I told them to make sure they had their phones out when we got to the touch tanks right at the end — with those creepy sea-cucumber-things?”

He taps about on the screen, scrolling through his photos until he finds the right one.

“I was super nervous, even though, like, we’ve talked about it before,” he says, ducking his head. “She’s always saying marriage is an _antiquated_ notion, but it’d be so much easier for us to live together after graduation if we’re legally married. Sometimes it’s hard to tell if she’s joking.”

Jamie slides the phone over to Jack.

It’s a video. In front of a ceiling-to-floor fish tank, silhouetted against blue, Jamie’s holding a hand over his mouth, stunned. And Seraphina’s holding out a tiny box.

Jack taps play, watching them both move.

“ _Jamie Leslie Bennett — “_

_“That’s not my middle name.”_

_“I’m trying to propose here.”_

_“Sorry, continue.”_

_“Jamie Unknown-Middle-Name Bennett_ ,” Seraphina drawls. Someone in the back laughs, only to be shushed. _“Marriage is dead… but if you really wanted… we could be immortals.”_

Jamie in the video laughs, a sound of delighted surprise. Jamie in real life explains, “That’s — It’s a line from my favourite song.”

In the video, Jamie’s covered his whole face with his hands, shoulders shaking. Jack thinks he’s crying — and clearly, at the time, Seraphina thought so too, because her hand holding out the ring falters, and she goes to reach for him.

But then Jamie drops his hand to reveal he’s laughing, in complete disbelief. He digs his hand into his pocket and pulls out a similarly-sized box.

“ _No fucking way..._ ”

“ _Seraphina Kuromi —_ “

“ _That’s not my last name.”_

Off-screen, someone in the background laughs, only to be shushed again.

“ _When I first saw you from across the room, I could tell that you were curious,_ ” Jamie in the video continues. _“You and me… we got a whole lot of history...”_

The wording of that last bit is oddly familiar. “Wait a minute,” Jack says, eyebrows furrowing. Across from him, Jamie is pink in the face but grinning, proud, eyes sparkling.

“ _We could be the greatest team the world has ever seen,_ “ Jamie in the video continues, getting to one knee. Seraphina on the video is staring at Jamie in awe, her arms limp at her sides. “ _I don’t need my love — you can take it._ ”

Video-Jamie opens the ring box, and Seraphina shakes her head, her face breaking into an ear-splitting grin. Jack’s breath leaves him; he’s never seen her look so happy.

“ _Well?_ ” Jamie prods. “ _Won’t you stay til the AM_?”

“Oh my god,” Jack laughs, as the camera jostles, people cheering as the pixelated Jamie and Seraphina hug. The video ends. “You proposed with _One Direction lyrics_.”

“You don’t want to know how long I spent on Spotify,” Jamie says, taking his phone back. He flicks through and shows Jack a few selfies of him and Seraphina showing off their rings — Seraphina’s flipping the finger in most of them and Jamie’s wearing his trademark toothy grin. Jack’s heart feels so full. These are two of his favourite people in the whole world, happiest he’s ever seen them.

“I’m surprised Seraphina didn’t want to have a big themed wedding,” Jack says. “But then, she has always been scary-impulsive.”

Jamie parts his lips, only to press them together into a line. Hesitantly, he glances at Jack, then back at his phone. “That’s kind of what my mom was most upset about. That we didn’t have a ceremony or anything.” He peeks up at Jack from between his fringe, like he’s worried about Jack’s reaction.

If this was on Twitter, Jack would just favourite the tweet — but this isn’t Twitter, and he has no idea what the right response is. Outside of what he’s seen in movies, Jack doesn’t really know how these things work.

Although… it seems like the ones who _do_ know how this work, like Jamie’s mom — like Pitch, if the cab ride was any indication — aren’t taking it too well. It’s absurd when Jack thinks about it, because this should be about what Jamie and Seraphina want. And, really, it’s their relationship, so what does any of this have to do with anyone else?

“I’m sorry,” Jamie says, softly. “I should have told you sooner.”

“Nah,” Jack waves off. “I mean, it would’ve been fun to be excited with you, but I get it. Cool kids only.”

“It feels a bit like I’ve ruined your Christmas.”

“Are you kidding?” Jack says, leaning over to punch him in the shoulder. “This is awesome. I can’t believe I get all my favourite people under one roof this year.”

Seraphina’s bedroom door clicks open and the cheer in the room is snuffed out.

Pitch murmurs something. Jamie tilts his head, looking at Jack, but it’s too low for either of them to hear. Jack leans back in his chair, just in time to see Seraphina coming out of the room, wiping her face on her sleeve.

Jack pulls a face at Jamie, trying to communicate, _yeah, it’s not looking too promising_ , without words.

“Hey,” Seraphina says, leaning against the doorway between the kitchen and lounge. Her eyes are dry, but her mascara is smudged, and she offers Jack a smile that holds no joy. “Jamie and I are gonna go stay at a friend’s for a couple of nights.”

“What?” Jack whispers, heart thudding. “You just got here.”

Jamie’s eyes dart to Seraphina, to Jack, and back again. Then he’s getting up, grabbing his things, and Jack _panics_.

“Wait,” he rushes. “I’ll go talk to him. We can sort this out.”

“I would leave it, if I were you, Jack,” Seraphina says, quietly, and she doesn’t sound sad or angry, just resigned, which Jack thinks is maybe worse. “He’s not himself.” Her lips tremble until she presses them into a pale line. "I think I need a few days too."

Jesus. What did Pitch _say_ to her? “Sera, I’m so sorry. He’s —”

“Do _not_ apologise for him,” Seraphina snaps. Her whole face changes, eyes narrowed to slits, shoulders raised to her ears, an ugly furl to to her mouth. Jack rears back, even though it’s obvious he’s not the one she’s upset with. “He’s an adult and he needs to learn that he doesn’t get to control people. People are allowed to leave and have their own lives without him, and if he wants to push them away, that’s fine, but at some point they’re _never going to come back_.”

Pitch comes storming out of the hallway, face thunderous. When he speaks, it’s in a low hiss. “You think you’re grown up but you’re nothing but a _spoiled child_ , and the fact has never been more clear to me than right now because what you’re doing is _entirely_ selfish.”

“Well done then,” she shouts. “Because _you’re_ the one who raised me!”

“I’ve clearly failed, if _this_ is the person you’ve become —”

“You _seriously_ couldn’t just be happy for me —”

“ — why on earth you thought I would be _happy_ with this is — ”

“ — _exactly_ why I didn’t tell you — ”

“— didn’t pay _thousands_ of pounds so you could traipse off with some boy — ”

“ — to do with money, absolutely _none_ of your business — ”

“ — can’t even look at you with that _ridiculous_ hair — ”

“ _Fine_!” Seraphina screams, holding her hands up. Her eyes are streaming, grey streaks staining her cheeks. “Fine. You want to stop paying for classes? Fine. You don’t want to look at me? Fine. You never have to see me again, _ever_. But don’t for a second think that you’re in the right here.”

Pitch opens his mouth, but Seraphina’s not done.

“Mum would _never_ have said those things to me.”

Jack’s breath hitches, eyes flying to Pitch. He’s frozen. Stunned. _Wounded_. Seraphina might as well have plunged her hand straight through his chest and ripped out his heart.

Before Pitch has a chance to put himself back together, she’s grabbing her bags and shoes, out the door without another word.

“I’ll text you where we’re staying,” Jamie says quietly, offering Jack a sad smile. “I really am sorry.”

Then he’s gone too.

#

Pitch has been out on balcony for about an hour, chain-smoking. It’s been three years since he quit; they don’t keep an ashtray outside anymore, so he’s just flicking the butts on the floor, crushing them with his bare feet.

Jack’s been sitting on the couch, pretending to scroll through his phone. Things got so ugly, so fast. Jamie and Seraphina only got off the plane a couple of hours ago. They should be here, settling in, catching up, not crashing elsewhere, angry and hurt. How did it come to this?

He wants to go find them, check Seraphina’s okay, but Jamie hasn’t sent through the address yet, which probably means she’s not ready to talk. 

Pitch doesn’t seem ready either. They’ve had their fights, but it’s never been like this. This isn’t like the time Seraphina crashed Pitch’s computer trying to install a bootleg copy of Photoshop, or the time Pitch found a pouch of tobacco in Seraphina’s room.

Pitch has never asked her to leave. And Seraphina has never, ever brought up her mother like that in front of him.

Jack should maybe leave, go for a walk or something, give Pitch some space like Seraphina told him to. But he would really rather head out there and ask Pitch if he’s okay — even though it's clear he’s anything but. It might help get the ball rolling; evidently Pitch has some shit he needs to talk through, and if talking it through with Seraphina is out of the question, then, well…

Jack is reckless, if nothing else.

“If you’re going to stay out here, will you at least put a coat on?” Jack says, sliding the door open.

Pitch turns around, stabbing his half-finished cigarette on the railing, flicking it onto the floor with the other butts. “She’s not coming back,” he mutters, not looking Jack in the eye.

“You both just need some time to cool off,” Jack says. Pitch always knows exactly which buttons to push — but Seraphina is her father’s daughter, and she knows which buttons to push too. It makes for explosive arguments from time to time, but they always end up bouncing back. This, too, will pass, he's sure.

“She’s moving to the states. Permanently.”

Jack’s breath hitches. "What?"

“Your little _friend_ didn’t tell you?” Pitch asks, pushing past him. “It’s the only reason they got married.”

“They — It’s not the _only_ reason,” Jack protests. He closes the door, but the wind follows him inside, whirling under his skin and twisting violently in his head. He had no idea Seraphina wanted to stay there long-term. Her initial plan was for to go for three years. She talks about her coming back after graduation all the time. When did that change?

No. No, of course, that would change. If anything, it should’ve been obvious. She and Jamie spend everyday together. Of course they’d want to continue that after graduation. Jack assumed Jamie would go back to Burgess, and go back to Skyping Seraphina over here, but of course the both of them wouldn't want to leave each other.

“They’re in love, Pitch,” Jack says, softly. “It makes sense they’d want to live together.” Hell, in comparison, Jack moved in with Pitch practically overnight.

“You think they eloped in secret out of _love_? They’re children, Jack. Don’t be vapid.”

Seraphina’s right. Pitch really isn’t being himself. “I get it,” Jack says, pitching his voice as gentle as he can. “I’m upset too. I miss her when she’s away, but Pitch, if this is what she wants to do, we have to let her do it.”

“Oh, _we_ have to let her,” Pitch laughs, darkly. “At what point were you appointed the right to tell me what _my daughter_ should and should not do?”

That’s not fair. Jack’s part of this family too. He might be a newer addition, and Seraphina might not be his kid by any means, but she’s still one of his best friends, and she means the world to him. Pitch _knows_ that. “I can’t tell you what to do, but we both know pushing her away isn’t going to get you what you want.”

“I forgot I was talking to Jack Frost, guardian of childhood,” Pitch spits, eyes blazing. “It shouldn’t surprise me you’d take her side. You wouldn’t know how to grow up if you tried.”

Jack stares. He has to choose to ignore half of that, because — wow. “There are no sides here, Pitch. This isn’t a war.”

“You have _no idea_ what you’re talking about, Jack,” Pitch says, eyes flashing. “You’ve never had a family. You’ve never had a relationship that wasn’t through a screen. You can play pretend at being normal all you like, but it doesn’t make it true and it doesn’t make any of it real. You know _nothing_.”

“Pitch,” Jack whispers, eyes wide. Pitch could’ve struck him and it would’ve hurt less. “What the fuck.”

“Spare me the dramatics. I’m really not in the mood to baby you right now,” Pitch scoffs, turning on his heel. “If you need sympathy, go burden the internet with your woes. Your opinion isn’t needed or wanted here, so please, if you could, fuck off onto the streets where you belong.”

No. No, what the _fuck_.

Jack’s feet move on his own, sprinting after Pitch and banging the bedroom door open before it slams shut. Pitch whirls around, mouth opening no doubt to say something cutting and Jack just —

_Jumps._

The both of them slam into the mattress. Pitch’s arms automatically come up to pull him off, but Jack’s smaller and faster, snaking his arms and legs out, squeezing onto him like a vice.

“Jack — Get _off me_.“ Hands grab roughly at his hoodie, tugging hard enough to tear the seams, hips bucking, trying to get enough momentum to shake Jack off.

“No.” Jack squeezes tighter.

“If you don’t let go — ”

“What’re you gonna do? Yell at me some more? Go ahead. Do your best. Tell me you want me to leave and not come back,” Jack suggests. “Say I’m a fuck-up and you never loved me and you’re only with me because you feel sorry for me. ‘Boo-hoo, Jack Frost, the sad nobody.’”

Pitch is still struggling, trying to disentangle them, but Jack isn’t going to let up.

“You could say, ‘hey Jack this was fun, but I’m bored of you now, so you can go’. Say, ‘Jack, you’re just a fill-in until I find someone normal.’ Tell me meeting me was the worst thing to ever happen to you — because at least if we never met you could bring people home and have a good fuck once in a while.”

The grip on his hoodie loosens. Jack doesn’t know if Pitch just got tired, or if that’s the one that hits closest to home. He really doesn’t care.

“You can be honest with me — it’s only fair, after all,” Jack says, fingers digging in. “Have you been waiting to say you’re tired of taking care of me? That I’m pathetic, I’m oversensitive, I’m wired wrong, I'm malfunctioning, I’m not worth the effort. You can say it. Say whatever the hell you want, Pitch. I’ve been waiting for it since the day we met.”

Maybe one or two years ago, he would’ve left it alone. Maybe even two weeks ago, Jack would’ve just turned around and walked out the door, gone to the park, let Pitch stew in his own misery until it percolated into regret.

“You’re being the world’s biggest asshole,” Jack says, eyes leaking into Pitch’s shirt. “And that’s fine, I’m a big boy, I can take it, but Seraphina is your _daughter_. You belittled her. You invalidated her decisions and relationships. You made her think you don’t want her — that she’s better off _gone_.”

All the fight leaves Pitch at once, in a single exhale that collapses his chest. The arms around Jack’s back go limp, thumping to the mattress.

When Pitch speaks, it’s quiet. “She’s all I have left.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, holding on tight. “I know.”

“I thought I would have more time,” he whispers. “ _Christ_.”

Hesitantly, Jack lifts his head. Pitch’s elbows are raised, bottom of his palms pressed into his eye sockets. His chest doesn’t shake, but Jack knows he’s crying.

There are no words Jack can say to soothe him. There is nothing Jack can do to make this particular wound hurt less.

Sighing, he rests his cheek back onto Pitch’s chest, listening to his heart thud erratically.

Some battles must be fought alone.

#

@LastLight replied to your tweet: _@JackFrost ok no prob c u then_

#

It takes a couple of days. 

The Monday before Christmas, they meet at the Costa across from the university. Seraphina orders the biggest, most ridiculous festive drink possible (a large eggnog frappe with two shots of toffee-nut syrup, whipped cream sprinkled with crushed peppermints, topped with a gingerbread reindeer), sitting across from Pitch, and folding her arms across her chest expectantly.

Jack and Jamie are sitting across from each other, at the table next them, nursing their hot chocolates, pretending not to watch or listen, but very obviously doing both.

“I apologise for saying your decision to marry Jamie was selfish,” Pitch says, stiffly. “Your life is yours to do with as you please, and I need to trust you to make the correct decisions, even when I disagree with them.”

Seraphina looks startlingly young. Jack can't quite pinpoint if it’s because she’s not wearing any make-up today, or if it’s because of the hair.

“Though I think shaving your entire head to prove a point was not necessary, I acknowledge your hair is also yours to do with as you please,” Pitch continues.

“And?” Seraphina says, raising her brows. Her nose is pink and swollen, eyes wet, but she still manages to look intimidating all the same.

All of a sudden, Pitch seems profoundly fascinated with the poster of an elf drinking from Costa mug.

“ _Dad_.”

“I’m sorry I said your mother would be disappointed in you.”

“You _what_?” Jack gasps, getting up so fast he knocks the table, mini-marshmallows rolling all over the place. Jamie puts a hand out, shaking his head in a silent plea, but, “Seriously, Pitch, what the _hell?”_

He has the decency to look chagrin at least. “Your mother…” Pitch rubs a hand over his face. He looks at her, and he smiles, anguished. “She would’ve been so proud of you.”

“I know,” Seraphina says, nodding. Her eyes are dripping steadily. She wipes her nose on the sleeve of her ugly Christmas sweater. “She’d be proud of you too. Even if you’re a jerk sometimes.”

Jack drops back in his seat, watching Jamie smile and pass over a stack of napkins for Seraphina to blow her nose in. He squeezes her shoulder, the both of them sharing a look of exhausted but thankful relief.

It must have been a lot for them, worrying about Pitch’s reaction. Jack can’t imagine what it would’ve been like if they’d kept that to themselves, all the way until after Christmas.

Jack sips on his drink, darting a glance over to Pitch, only to find he’s already looking back.

“Thank you,” Pitch murmurs. “And… I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Pitch,” Jack reassures him quickly. He can’t deal with people apologising to him and Pitch knows this. He’d genuinely prefer to be yelled at. “Seriously. Please don’t make it weird.”

Seraphina and Jamie are taking selfies with their drinks — Seraphina, with whipped cream purposefully smeared on her nose, Jamie with about ten mini-marshmallows between his teeth. They look happy. Pitch has to see that.

“I haven’t the faintest what I’ve done to deserve you,” Pitch says, quietly. “But be rest assured, if I knew, I'd do it twice over, then once more, just to be safe.”

Heart thudding, Jack turns to him, eyes wide. Pitch drinks at his long black, oblivious to the weight of his words. When he puts his cup down, Jack can make out a phone number written on the side in black marker, followed by a little heart. Pitch leaves it on the table when they finish, and Jack — who’s usually adamant about leaving their table clean — can’t bring himself to be the one who throws it away.

Back at the flat, while they wait for Seraphina and Jamie to arrive for a second time with their luggage, Pitch sweeps up the balcony with a dustpan and brush, Jack leaning against the glass doors, lost in thought. He feels off-kilter, like earth’s gravity has lightened and if Jack’s not careful, with the right breeze, he’ll float away.

“You could move with them,” Jack says. “To the states, I mean.”

He’s been thinking about it since he found out. Jack wouldn’t be able to go; with his passport and residency situation – it would be too risky. But Pitch could. Even if he wasn't granted permanent residency right away, with his credentials, it wouldn't be hard for him to get a job at one of the local universities. It makes sense for him to go. Even if he wouldn’t be living _with_ Jamie and Seraphina, he would be close enough to see them often. More often than he would if he stayed here.

Pitch glances up at him from where he’s trying to sweep at couple of dead ants into the dustpan amongst the cigarette butts. “I’m afraid the San Diego sun clashes terribly with my complexion.”

“I don’t want to be the reason you’re stuck here,” Jack says, quietly. He looks out over the ledge, at the cluttered apartments of East London. It’s only just gone three, but the sun sets early in winter here, easily exhausted and keen to rest.

Pitch gets to his feet, brushing off the front of his trousers with one hand. He gives Jack a searching look, before turning in.

Jack follows him inside, closing the door behind them to keep the heat in. He finds Pitch in the kitchen, emptying the dustpan under the sink, turning the tap on. When he’s done, he leans back against the sink, wiping his hands, considering Jack with a carefully neutral expression. “What’s brought this on?”

“Jinn told me you two used to have a thing,” Jack murmurs. “And that’s – I don’t care that you didn’t tell me about that, but I can’t wrap my head around why you would choose someone like me, when you could be with someone like him.”

“A _thing_ ,” Pitch says, raising his eyebrows, amused. “It was never anything serious. Just a bit of fun.”

Jack tries not to flinch, he does, but his body cringes, shoulders curling in. “I don’t think it was like that for him.”

“It was,” Pitch says, draping the tea towel over one shoulder. “That’s why we ended it, actually. He wasn’t interested in pursuing things further.”

“What?” Jack blinks. “No. You said… He told me you went to Moscow together, and there was a hotel room, and something about guns, I can’t remember, but, you said — You told me you were never in love with him.”

“We were young,” Pitch shrugs. “I might’ve gotten there, eventually. But truly, Jack it never would have worked. We were going different directions. We wanted different things.”

“But…” Jack’s so confused.

“I met Seraphina’s mother soon after,” Pitch says, easily. “And Djinni began his little company. Then Seraphina was born, and with his business taking off, we fell out of touch.”

“And then?”

“And then…” Pitch echoes, looking, of all things, confused. “Well, then I met you, Jack.”

“But, you could still have that, if you wanted,” Jack says. “You could be travelling to Tokyo, or — It doesn’t even have to be Jinn. You could be in Paris with that cute barista, eating lobster and having sex at the Louvre.”

Pitch raises his eyebrows, and yeah, okay, that's his imagination running wild again.

“I just,” Jack rubs at the back of his neck, a heaviness tugging at him. “I don’t understand why, out of the billions of people on the planet, you would choose to be with me.”

“Jack, I often wonder the same about you,” Pitch replies, patiently. “I’m arrogant, overly critical. Downright unpleasant, most of the time. I can be rude, often to the point of _hurtful_. I find other people terribly uninteresting. I loathe small talk. But most damningly, despite what various forums will have you believe, I’m _boring_.”

Jack stares. _What?_

“You talk about travelling the world and going on adventures, but even the thought of going out for dinner repels me,” Pitch says, with a grimace. “You speak of what I could have, but you, Jack, you could be with someone who enjoys going to the theatre, who tolerates those loud, bright video games you enjoy, and wants to visit those god-awful bars with drinks in _fishbowls_. You could be with someone who wants to try new things, who likes to _have fun_.”

Pitch runs a hand through his hair, tousling the greys with the black. “Instead, you choose to stay, cooped up here with me, drinking tea and watching gazettes being eaten alive — with the captions on, I might add. The fact you’d waste your youth on someone like me is a travesty, and if I wasn’t so selfish, I’d ask you to leave.”

That’s — That’s the most ridiculous thing Jack has ever heard. “I love all those things about you,” Jack breathes. “I — Even if I could, I wouldn’t want you to change any of that.”

“I know,” Pitch smiles, pushing off the sink. With a few steps, he closes the distance between them, cupping Jack’s face in his hands. He smells like soap and coffee and London drizzle. “Is it so impossible to believe I feel the same, about you?”

Oh.

That's...

That's a good point. If Jack can love the parts of Pitch he hates about himself, then it shouldn’t be impossible to believe Pitch can love Jack — with his shortcomings and all.

Jack eyes are sore, and he can feel lethargy pulling at his bones in warning. He’ll have to go to bed in a minute, sleep this off. But for now, he reaches up, touches his fingertips to Pitch’s jaw, closing his eyes as Pitch presses their mouths together.

“Ew, get a room you hooligans!”

Pitch pulls away, the both of them turning to see Seraphina and Jamie in the lounge with their bags.

“We were just about to,” Pitch says, raising an eyebrow. “The walls are thin though, so you may want to wear earplugs. Or perhaps, it’d be more convenient if you came back in an hour or two.”

“Oh my _god_ , dad,” Seraphina yells, clamping her hands over her ears. “What the _hell!_ ”

“I’m not sure why she’s so outraged,” Pitch says, offering Jamie a smile with teeth. “Her snoring is just as loud as Jack’s.”

Jack ducks his head, pressing his face into Pitch’s chest to muffle his laughter.


	5. perfect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter warnings: cannibalism jokes, anxiety regarding sex, oral sex, rimming, penetration, post-coital tristesse, post-coital dysphoria]

No matter how much he likes the idea of a day with food and carols and presents, Christmas will always feel foreign to Jack. A side-effect of growing up invisible, he suspects.

Even back when he was at the university, he’d spend Christmas in the food hall with a few other international students who were stranded over the break. Some of them would stay after the food was gone, socialising with each other since there was no one else to talk to, nothing else to do. Jack wasn’t (still isn’t) particularly good at conversation though. He’d scroll through his phone, watching people celebrate through his screen, feeling like a tiny figurine trapped in a snow globe, watching the world outside spin on.

Then he met Pitch.

His first Christmas with him and Seraphina was genuinely unbelievable. Pitch bought a roast chicken from M&S and reheated it in the oven. Seraphina microwaved a plate of Tesco canned beans. They ate on the couch, watching _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ on DVD. Occasionally, Seraphina would lean over and tell Jack a fun fact; Pitch had clearly heard them all before, getting up to fetch a book half-way through. At some point, Seraphina fell asleep, legs across Pitch’s lap. Pitch, though upright on the couch, had his head tilted back, eyes closed, lips parted softly.

It was nothing like the movies. It was better.

“I don’t know why we didn’t just get two chickens,” Seraphina complains.

This year, because there’s more of them, Pitch did an ASDA order, and is currently following a YouTube tutorial on how to cook a turkey from scratch. Jack’s his little helper, holding a bowl of marinade that smells suspiciously like petrol but Pitch has assured him, in a very terse tone, is safe for human consumption. Seraphina was placed in charge of handling the potatoes, but she immediately handed the task over to Jamie, who’s now at the sink, peeling dutifully despite being their guest.

“I’ve never had turkey before,” Jack says. “I’ve had turkey in sandwiches but never _turkey_ turkey _.”_

“It’s basically chicken but bad,” Seraphina says, lifting herself up to sit on the kitchen benchtop. “No offence, Jamie.”

“That’s okay,” Jamie says, only to blink, confused. “Wait, why would I be offended by that?”

“Oh… No reason.”

Jack laughs, his phone vibrating violently in his pocket. He puts the marinade down so he can take it out, thinking he’s set an alarm or timer he’s forgot about. Then he reads the screen, eyebrows shooting up.

_DJINNI “JINN” ROBOT calling…_

“Uh, excuse me,” Jack says, ducking out into the lounge. The TV’s blaring in here though, Seraphina having turned on the movie _Elf_ earlier, only to promptly forget about it. He goes out onto the balcony, skin tightening at the temperature drop. “Um, hello?”

“Jack, it’s good to hear from you.”

Jack smiles at that. “Jinn, you’re the one who called me.”

“Oh, right, of course,” Jinn says. It’s a little hard to hear him, the other end of the phone noisy, like he’s in the middle of a packed restaurant or a party. “I’m afraid my phone etiquette is as appalling as the rest of my social skills.”

If Jinn put that in a tweet, Jack would quote-retweet it. _Hashtag relatable_.

“It’s cool. How are you? Are you in London?” Maybe Jack should ask Pitch if they can invite him over.

“Bruges, actually.” Oh. Nevermind then. “They have the most exquisite snow and ice festival, I think you’d like it.”

“I do love snow and ice,” Jack agrees, leaning out against the balcony. It’s so early the sky is still half-asleep, grey fading into blue. The streets below are empty, devoid of pedestrians and traffic. It’s so peaceful. “Send me some photos, if you get a chance.”

“Actually, I’ve sent you a gift I hope you like,” Jinn says. “To thank you for your friendship.”

“Oh,” Jack says, stomach twisting. They haven’t known each other long, so Jinn doesn’t know — Jack doesn’t like receiving gifts.

Having people give him things has always made him feel self-conscious. It’s a combination of worrying it’s a loaded gesture, and fearing the gift has been given to him out of misplaced pity. It’s an easy conversation to have over text, but it’s always difficult to explain aloud. “Um, Jinn — ”

“She should be arriving any moment,” Jinn continues, raising his voice to heard over the sound of what Jack thinks might be singing but could just as easily be screaming. “Apologies, Jack! I’ll have to call you back another time! Happy holidays!”

“Oh, uh, happy — ”

_Beep, beep._

“...holidays.” Jack frowns down at the phone. It sounded like Jinn said _she_ should be arriving, but he has no idea what that's supposed to mean.

Behind his phone screen, storeys below, a black car pulls up, coming to a stop in front of the building across the street.

The driver gets out, opening the back passenger door, and Jack watches, fascinated, as the passenger steps out, their hat or headscarf a disturbingly familiar combination of colours. The driver offers a brief bow, before getting back in the car, pulling away.

Then, the passenger walks up to Pitch and Jack’s building, disappearing under the balcony Jack's standing on, out of sight.

Inside the apartment, the buzzer rings.

“Was that the doorbell?” Pitch asks, sticking his head out the kitchen the moment Jack comes inside. “Who were you just on the phone with?”

Jack shakes his head, because Jinn’s in Belgium, so it’s not _him_ at the door. “They probably pressed the wrong flat.”

The buzzer rings again.

The intercom’s been broken for ages, so they can either head down and check who it is, or ignore them until they leave. Pitch looks at Jack, eyebrows raised.

“I’ll go check who it is,” Jack decides.

“Is it pizza?” Seraphina calls from the kitchen. “Please tell me it’s pizza.”

“I don’t think they open on Christmas,” Jack hears Jamie say.

“My sweet naïve child, we live in a capitalist hellscape. Of course, they’re open.”

The buzzer rings a third time. Jack doesn’t bother with shoes or keys, tucking his phone into his back pocket and heading out, Pitch on his heels.

When they get outside, whoever was at the door has stepped off the entrance, down by the skinny leafless tree on the pavement, looking down at their phone. They’re in a bright pink coat that Jack doesn’t remember seeing on anyone he knows. It’s probably someone visiting for Christmas, having gotten the wrong address.

“Can I help you with anything?” Jack asks.

The stranger turns to look at him, and Jack’s heart stops in his chest.

“Oh my god,” he breathes. “ _Toothiana_?”

“ _Suuurrrrprise_!” Tooth squeals, _fluttering_. And it _is_ her. Jack would recognise her anywhere. Heart-shaped face, pink eyeshadow, shocking bright green hair —

She holds out her arms, and before Jack knows what he’s doing, he’s running at her, grabbing her around the waist, spinning her on the spot. She laughs in delight, and it’s the most beautiful sound in the world.

“How are you here? Oh my god,” Jack laughs, a thousand hummingbirds in his chest, their little wings beating furiously against his lungs. He touches her cheeks, her hair — it’s not just green; it’s green and turquoise and blue and purple and yellow and none of her selfies have done it justice. She smells like mint and basil and lemon and she’s a little taller than Jack thought she was and she’s got freckles across her nose that Jack’s never been able to see from pictures, and she’s _here_.

“You’re totally not gonna believe me,” she says, patting his chest, excitedly. “I got this DM from someone who works at Djinni Robot, saying, like, hey, how would you like a trip to London to meet your friend Jack Frost?”

Jack stares. He turns on the spot to look at Pitch, who rolls his eyes.

“You — ” Jack shakes his head. “Jinn brought you here.”

“Yes! Well, British Airways and a very nicer driver did,” Tooth says. “I thought for sure it was a scam, but he _Facetimed_ me! And it was really him — isn’t he a stunner — and he said he’s a good friend of yours, and next thing I know, I’m on a plane flying first class to London. Oh, I snuck you some pretzels.” She digs around her coat pocket, before pulling out, not a small snack bag like Jack expects, but a napkin with two crushed biscuits inside.

“I’m — I don’t know what to say,” Jack says, laughing. He shoves the napkin in his pocket with one hand, his other still on Tooth’s waist. He can’t stop touching her, half-convinced the second he lets go she’ll vanish. He can’t believe she’s _actually here_. The two of them, in the same space, at the same time, for the first time, after ten years of being friends. “Tooth, this is amazing.”

“I am a _gift!_ A true Christmas miracle, baby,” she says, tugging him in by the neck and smooching his cheek. He laughs, delighted, and she squeals. “Ahh, your teeth are so much cuter than your pictures.” She practically peels his mouth open to peer inside, prodding at his molars. “Ooh, they sparkle like freshly fallen snow.”

Pitch clears his throat.

“Oh, sorry,” she giggles, pulling her fingers out of Jack’s mouth. “Pitch Black, in the flesh. Hi, hi, hi!” She holds her hand out, but when Pitch goes to take it, she swoops in for a hug that knocks the wind out of him, if his expression is anything to go by. “Jack and Sera-Sera have told me so much about you.”

“You know my daughter,” Pitch says, pulling away.

“Of _course_. We follow each other on Tik Tok. I’m all about that SeraSeraKuromi life.”

“It’s an app where you post videos.”

“Yes, I know what Tik Tok is, Jack, thank you.”

“I really hope you don’t mind me crashing your Christmas,” Tooth says, looping an arm around Jack’s elbow.

“Not at all,” Pitch says, sighing the sigh of a put-upon man who’s used to things going drastically off plan. “The more the merrier, as they say. Do you have somewhere to stay? With Seraphina home, we don’t have a spare room, but you’re more than welcome to the inflatable mattress or the couch.”

“ _Psh_ , you’re sweet, but it’s fine,” Tooth waves off. “I’m staying at the Corinthia in Westminister.”

 _Jesus_ . “He really likes to go all out, doesn’t he?” Jack asks Pitch, who rolls his eyes once more.

“I assume he reserved you a penthouse suite,” Pitch drawls.

“The Garden Suite _,_ ” Tooth beams. “It overlooks the sweetest little garden.”

“Unbelievable,” Pitch mutters under his breath.

“In the immortal words of Boruto’s dad: _believe it_!” Tooth exclaims. It’s such an incredibly _internet_ thing to say, that Jack bursts out laughing, his whole body shaking with it, lungs burning. He grabs at a giggling Tooth, trying to hold himself together and failing wonderfully.

When he manages to catch his breath, he makes the mistake of looking at Pitch’s face, absolutely bewildered, so clearly wondering _, who the fuck is Boruto and who the ever loving fuck is their dad_ , that it sets Jack off all over again.

#

@BunnyMund and 6 others favourited your tweet: _LITERALLY FOUND A @Toothiana IN THE WILD!!!_

@Toothiana retweeted you: _LITERALLY FOUND A @Toothiana IN THE WILD!!!_

@thesandyman replied to your tweet: _!!!!!!!???_

#

@DjinniRobot favourited your tweet: _@DjinniRobot Not sure if Jinn checks these but... tell him Jack Frost says thanks. Really._

@Toothiana replied to your tweet: _@DjinniRobot @JackFrost Tooth says thanks too!! :*)_

#

On New Years’ Eve, Seraphina and Jamie take Tooth out to Southbank, braving the crowds and cold while Jack and Pitch stay snuggled up in bed. The past few days have been a blast, but Jack’s not used to doing so much. Yesterday, he fell asleep — while standing upright, _on the tube_. He awoke on a platform at Baker Street station, with his head pillowed on Jamie’s shoulder, Seraphina and Tooth sat on the floor across from him, talking animatedly about which VSCO cam filters were worth paying for.

“You can sleep longer if you want,” Jamie said, smiling. "We're not in a rush."

It was nice, being surrounded by his best friends, who all know exactly who Jack is, and love him anyway.

But when Seraphina and Jamie suggested they watch the fireworks, in person, in _central London,_ _on New Year’s eve_ , Jack was the quickest to nope out. He’s exhausted — if not emotionally, socially. Being squished by thousands of tourists, crowded together like sardines? Hard pass.

“Toothiana won’t have anyone to kiss at midnight,” Pitch drawls. He’s propped up by a pile of pillows, the secondhand history book Seraphina bought him for Christmas in his lap.

“I’ll kiss her at midnight New York time,” Jack says, tossing his phone onto the bedside table. His legs are jittery, and it’s the restlessness, not nervousness, that has his voice trembling when he says, “Hey, I’ve been wanting to ask you a favour.”

Pitch hums, only half-paying attention, and Jack thinks, there’s no point drawing it out.

“I think we should have sex.”

Pitch had been in the middle of turning a page, fingers poised in midair, paper curled over. He says nothing for several moments, before closing the book entirely, pulling his glasses off. “I am questioning your understanding of how _favours_ work.”

“I think we should try it, once,” Jack says sitting up. “Just to see if I like it.” He can’t bounce his legs in this position, so he taps his hands on Pitch’s knees instead.

“Mm hm,” Pitch says, putting his book aside.

“Who knows? Maybe it’ll be like that time I tried Soreen,” Jack says, convincingly. “Hate fruit loaf. Love Soreen.”

“I see we’re equating malt bread with penetrative sex,” Pitch says, but he’s smiling, reaching for Jack, who goes happily, climbing into his lap. Pitch tilts his head back and closes his eyes, letting Jack kiss his mouth, his cheekbones, his eyelids. _God,_ he loves this man so much.

When Jack’s done, Pitch opens his eyes, and they really are golden like the sun. “I take it you’ve given this some thought.”

“Four years, give or take,” Jack shrugs, quirking up a smile.

Pitch purses his lips, a little furrow between his brows that Jack immediately goes to smooth away.

“I’ve…” He touches Jack’s arm lightly, before pulling back, apologetic. “If you could excuse me a minute.”

“Oh.” Jack blinks, climbing off him, thinking maybe he’s got to use the bathroom or something, but Pitch goes over to the dresser and digs through the back of his sock drawer, coming back with a plain paper bag. Jack sits on his knees, trying to get a better look. When he goes to reach for it, Pitch snatches it just out of his reach.

“I know how you feel about gifts,” he says. “So I would like to clarify, this is for me, and not for you.”

Jack rolls his eyes, making grabby hands until Pitch hands it over. Excited, Jack peers inside — Only to crush it closed immediately, staring at Pitch with wide eyes.

“You bought a dildo.”

Pitch grins with all his teeth, and Jack’s cheeks burn. He scoots back a bit, putting more space between them before reopening the bag, and yep. He sure did. It’s a deep blue, ridged with artificial veins, a good deal slighter than Pitch’s penis but intimidating to Jack nonetheless.

Did Pitch go into a shop to buy this? Or did he order it online? Jack’s not sure what’s more soul-destroying, imagining Pitch going into a sex store in SoHo, or scrolling through a catalogue on his computer and deciding _yes, this is the dildo I wish to use on Jack_.

It’s so — It’s so _thoughtful_ , is the thing. Jack doesn’t like to be touched in certain places, so maybe his body will find using a tool less invasive. That distance might be all he needs. But —

“You wouldn’t rather…” Jack licks his lips. “I don’t mind, but I thought — I mean, you won’t be able to feel anything through this.”

“I was thinking…” Pitch says, slowly. “Perhaps we could try it the other way round. If you’re amenable.”

Jack's brain short-circuits.

He didn’t even realise that was in the cards. But now it’s all he can think about. Pitch on his back, legs spread, fingers inside him, _a toy_ inside him, and it’s like Jack’s brain shuts down. Gives up. Packs up and leaves.

“I take it the idea appeals to you,” Pitch says, looking entirely too smug.

“You — ” Jack swallows, mouth dry. “I didn’t know that was something you liked.”

“On occasion,” Pitch says, easily. “However, this will be my first time with another person. It will be a new experience for both of us, in that respect.”

Jack flops onto his back, covering his hands with his face. It’s too much. His face is on fire, steam coming out his ears. This is how he goes. He always knew it would end this way.

“I understand, of course, if you’d rather not,” Pitch continues. “But if it does appeal to you at any point in time…”

“It appeals to me right now,” Jack says, probably louder than necessary. He pulls his hands away, looking up at Pitch, but it’s too much, like Pitch can see past his flesh and into his soul. “How do you wanna do it?”

“Hands and knees,” Pitch suggests. “I suspect you might be more comfortable with the position too, but we can make adjustments if you decide otherwise.” He searches Jack’s face. “Do you need me to cover my eyes?”

“Yeah,” he says, swallowing. “Please.”

After pulling his sleep mask out of the bedside table, Pitch tosses Jack a bottle of lube, going to pull his briefs off when Jack stops him.

“Can we, uh,” Jack says, clearing his throat. “Can we slow it down a bit?” He thinks Pitch will make fun of him, say something about how they’ve been moving at a glacial pace for four fucking years, but Pitch just nods, climbing back on the bed. He lets Jack take the sleep mask from him, pulling it over his head and covering his eyes. It’s just a cheap one they picked up a while back when shopping, white satin underneath, grey cotton on the outside, and a thick black elastic. Pitch has worn it a fair few times. Something about knowing Pitch can’t see him makes Jack feel braver, and Pitch — Pitch is always accomodating.

Jack nudges him back against the headboard, running his fingers over all his favourite pathway. Pitch’s jaw, down his neck, across his collarbones and down the swells of his triceps. He splays his hands across Pitch’s pecs, just feeling him breathe. He thumbs at Pitch’s nipples, until they’re hard, then ducks his head, laving the nub with his tongue, grinning when Pitch lets out a hiss of surprise.

“You’re very pretty,” Jack murmurs, kissing Pitch’s mouth. “I like you like this.”

Pitch doesn’t reply, but he exhales heavily through his nose, leans forward into Jack’s space, like he’s trying to get closer. They’ve been together long enough Jack knows what he wants. This, at least, Jack has experience with. He nudges Pitch back against the pillows, licking into his mouth, desire flaring when Pitch licks back.

Jack snakes a hand down, squeezing Pitch through his briefs. He’s hard already, and when Jack strokes him through the cotton, he groans into Jack’s mouth. Jack sucks on his tongue, stroking him slow, leisurely.

When Jack pulls away, Pitch tries to follow.

“Okay,” Jack says, touching his hand to Pitch’s jaw. “I’ll get the lights.”

He climbs off the bed, clicking on Pitch’s lamp before crossing the room to get flip the overhead lights off. When he turns around, Pitch has taken his briefs off, already on his hands and knees in the middle of the bed, cock dark and hard between his legs. Jack tries to shake the nervousness. There’s so many ways he could mess this up.

“You’ll tell me if you hate it, right?” Jack asks, really hoping the question doesn’t ruin the mood.

“I will,” Pitch says. “I expect the same from you.”

Right. _Right_. Jack can stop this anytime. If this is all Jack wanted, Pitch would be fine with it. If Jack said he wanted to stop here, Pitch would go to the bathroom, finish himself off alone, then come back to bed — to Jack. Pitch is so good to him, always.

The mattress dips when Jack climbs onto it, and Pitch’s whole body visibly tenses in the lowlight. Startled, Jack touches his hip, questioning — only for Pitch to jump under his hand. Is this what it’s like when he touches Jack? It’s very unsettling.

“Are you _sure_ you want to do this?” Jack frowns.

“It’s been a while,” he mutters, dropping his head between his arms. “Just… Take it slow.”

“I can do slow,” Jack nods, rubbing circles into Pitch’s lower back. “I’m the King of Taking It Slow.”

“Before the new year preferably.”

Jack rolls his eyes, grabbing the lube from the bed. He pops the cap open, letting out a laugh of surprise. “Is this _scented_ lube?”

“Indeed,” Pitch drawls. “Strawberry.”

“Amazing,” Jack grins, squirting some onto his fingers and slicking down Pitch’s hole. He’s so _warm_. “Does it _taste_ like strawberry?”

“How the hell should I know?” Pitch gripes. “I didn’t mill around Ann Summers asking if they had samples to try.”

Completely unthinking, Jack spreads Pitch’s cheeks open and just _licks_. Pitch gasps, loud and sharp and Jack freezes, the realisation of what he’s done slapping him in the face.

“ _Shit_ , I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” he babbles, squeezing at Pitch’s hips. _Fuck_. He would be _furious_ if Pitch did something like this out of the blue. “I should’ve asked first. Are you okay?”

Pitch’s hands are fisted in the sheet. “Do it again.”

Jack’s heart thumps.

_He likes it._

He breathes, spreading Pitch open again and licking a long fat stripe from his balls up. Pitch seems to _really_ like it, his breathing laboured, body rocking back on his knees. Jack tongues at his hole, licking leisurely. It’s not so different from when he sucks Pitch off. The mechanics are a bit different, but it’s just licking and sucking all the same. He’s surprised they didn’t think of this sooner.

The lube tastes more like candy syrup than strawberry, but it’s surprisingly good and kind of _fun_. The nervousness in Pitch’s body is completely gone. He’s still tense, but in a sensually different way, panting heavily and pushing back, like he needs more. Jack spreads him wider, pushing his tongue in as far as it’ll go and Pitch groans, low and deep, the sound going straight to Jack’s dick. He tries pushing his tongue in and out, imitate the motion of thrusting. It’s difficult and his tongue gets tired fast, but the _noises_ Pitch makes.

He’s never heard Pitch like this before. Loud. Guttural. The sounds torn from his throat.

“Fingers,” Pitch gasps. “Please.”

Jack sucks at his hole one last time before pulling off, wiping his mouth on his wrist. He slips a finger in easily, pushing in and out, as far as it’ll go. Two fingers is a little tougher, and Pitch grunting at the stretch. Jack curls over him, kissing his back. There’s supposed to be a spot, he knows, but it’s so hot and wet inside, Jack doesn’t know how he’s supposed to find it. He slips his fingers out, pushing back in with his palm down, pressing at the walls until Pitch cries out, elbows dropping to the mattress. Jack thrusts in again with three fingers, looking for that spot and Pitch tells him where it is, every time.

It’s absolutely breathtaking, watching him fall apart like this. Jack pulls his fingers out, reaching for the paper bag. He fumbles with the dildo, squirting more lube into his hands and slicking it thoroughly. He presses the tip of it against Pitch’s hole. It’s only then, looking down, that he realises Pitch chose this specifically because it’s the same size and shape as —

“ _Jack_.”

“Oh, um.” Jack blinks, pushing in, slow, watching it disappear into Pitch’s body. He tries to angle it down, pushing it all the way to the base and stopping. He waits for Pitch to give the okay, eyes tracing over the glean of sweat on his neck, the line of his shoulder-blades, the dip in his spine. Jack squeezes his eyes shut, so hard in his underwear he has to use his free hand to adjust himself.

“If we ever do this again,” Jack breathes. “I want you on your back.”

Pitch shudders, one arm moving under him so he can grab at himself. Jack pulls the toy out, pushing in again with measured strokes. Pitch keens, hips jolting like he can’t decide whether he wants to push into his hand or fuck back onto the toy. Jack tries to help, one hand on Pitch’s hip, the other thrusting steadily, slowly building speed.

Pitch’s noises get louder until they catch on a gasp, his whole body convulsing as he comes.

 _Oh my god_ . Jack pulls out, dropping the toy on the bed and shoving his hand into his pants. He stares at Pitch’s hole, fluttering around nothing, imagines pushing himself inside, coming inside him. A handful of firm strokes, and Jack’s gone, crying out, soaking the front of his underwear in warmth.

On the bed, Pitch moans, like he can feel it — like he _wants_ to feel it.

Jack collapses onto the mattress next to him, panting. He’s soaked in sweat, shirt sticking to his skin, fingers tacky with lube and come. He tries desperately to hold onto that feeling of pleasure — but it slips away like water, leaving his chest aching.

“Pitch,” Jack whispers, panicked, not sure what he's asking for.

The discomfort hits him faster and harder than usual, a cold blanketing his skin, making his body spasm, curl in on itself. The ache in his chest cracks open, swallowing him whole. He gasps at air, trying to breathe through it, but it only makes the ache wider. He clutches at the front of his shirt, sure there’s a wound there, gushing water like an open tap.

He doesn’t realise he’s crying until Pitch tugs him close, body shaking against his arms. “It’s alright,” Pitch murmurs. “Let it out.”

He opens his mouth to apologise, to tell Pitch he doesn’t know what’s happening, to tell him he’s sorry — he's so so sorry, but his voice breaks on a sob. It escapes him in waves, his body nothing more than a dam, broken.

_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

He cries until there’s nothing left, until his throat is hoarse, and all the liquid has been drained from him.

Pitch pets at his hair, gentle and patient, waiting until Jack’s breathing has settled. “Are you alright?”

“M’sorry,” Jack mumbles, blinking his eyes open, tears stuck to his lashes. “I don’t know what happened.”

Pitch wraps a leg around him, kisses his cheek. “It happens sometimes, to some people. It’s completely normal.”

“M'so sorry,” Jack mumbles, closing his eyes again. He’s exhausted. Falling asleep. Too tired to stop it.

“Don’t be, Jack,” Pitch says, voice distant.

If he says anything else, Jack’s too far away to hear it.

#

He wakes to the smell of pancakes and coffee.

He rolls over and finds the space beside him empty, pillow fluffed and blanket smoothed. The clock on Pitch’s table says it’s half past ten in the morning. He can hear the buzz of the TV in the lounge, the faint clinking of cutlery against crockery in the kitchen. When he goes to get out of bed, his head spins, legs giving out.

There are black spots in his vision, but he manages to blink them out. Pitch changed his clothes last night, but his skin still feels sticky and coarse with dried sweat. When he tries standing again, he’s fine, but he feels a bit like he’s walking on a cloud.

He grabs a change of clothes, heading to the bathroom and taking the longest, most indulgent shower he’s ever had. He feels sore everywhere, like his muscles have been stretched out in his sleep.

When he pads through the lounge, the noisiness of the flat jolts a dull throb in his temple. Jack leans against the kitchen hallway, and he must look as bad as he feels because Pitch rushes over from the stove, touching a hand to his forehead.

“My head hurts,” Jack mumbles.

“Jacqueline Frost, are you _hungover_?” Seraphina whispers loudly. She’s sat on the kitchen bench in her pyjamas, glitter in her hair, orange juice in hand.

“Here, here,” Tooth says, lifting her mug of coffee. She’s wearing pyjamas too, as well as a pair of sunglasses, even though they’re indoor.

Jamie, who’s taken over Pitch’s place at the stove, points to his backpack at the table. “I’ve got some Panadol if you need it.”

“You’re a little warm,” Pitch says. “But it could be from the shower. How’s your throat?”

Jack licks his lips. “Dry, but not sore.”

“Sounds like you might be dehydrated,” Pitch says. “Take a seat. I’ll get you a glass.”

Normally Jack would argue — _I can get my own water, thanks —_ but he’s too tired. He does as he’s told, stealing a blueberry off Tooth’s plate. She pushes it towards him, then pulls a glow bracelet off her wrist and slides that towards him too.

“What time did you all get in last night?” Jack squints.

“God, like, three? Four?” Tooth says. “The tubes were packed so we took an Uber with this lovely couple from Australia.”

“Apparently people down there _don’t_ all know each other,” Jamie says, turning from the stove.

“Oh?” Jack says. “Thanks,” he says to Pitch, taking the ibuprofen and draining the entire glass of water in one pull.

“Tooth kept insisting they must know Bunny,” Seraphina says, kicking her feet in glee. “She kept shouting, ‘You know the bunny! Don’t lie to me!’ and they were just as drunk, so they kept shouting, ‘But why is your hair green! For what purpose!’”

“The Uber driver left us a terrible review,” Jamie sighs, coming over with a fresh stack of pancakes.

“Did you sleep here?” Jack asks, handing the glass back to Pitch. Wow, maybe it really is dehydration. He’s _parched_. He feels like he could drink an ocean.

“Snuggled with the newlyweds,” Tooth says, winking. She ducks her head and whispers to Jack, “They _both_ kick in their sleep.”

“Jinn called this morning, by the way,” Seraphina says. She’s scooping pancake batter up with her finger and licking it off. “He’s in Berlin but he wanted to wish us happy new year.”

“ _You’re_ friends with him too?” Pitch says, bewildered. “ _Why_?”

“He said he asked to be my godfather when I was born but you said you’d sooner eat me before ever letting that happen,” she says. “Vore, papa? Really? That’s almost as bad as cannibalism, which is frowned upon by Jack Frost.”

Sighing, Pitch moves to go back to the stove, and before Jack knows what's happening, his hand is snagging the sleeve of his robe.

Pitch turns to him, eyes questioning.

Jack blinks, then stares down at his hand, just as confused. “Sorry,” he mutters, letting go.

"No, it's... fine." Brow furrowing, Pitch turns, holding the glass out. “Sera, can you get Jack another glass of water?”

Seraphina jumps off the bench, humming to herself as she goes to fill it up at the sink, hip-checking Jamie on the way. Pitch pours himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the table, leaning against the wall to drink it, close enough for Jack to rest his head against his hip, closing his eyes.

He's still tired, but in a welcome way. He wants to curl up on the couch with Pitch and watch documentaries until he falls asleep. He wants to lie in the sun while Pitch reads a book and Tooth, Seraphina and Jamie take photos of squirrels. He wants to doze off here, surrounded by the soft chatter of his family.

“Aww, Jack, I’ve never seen you like this,” Seraphina coos, ruffling his hair. He opens his eyes, offering her a smile. She hands him the water and kisses his forehead. “What do you want on your pancakes, my small jackfruit?” She straightens then, squinting at him suspiciously. “If you say butter and jam, you’re fired.”

“It’s a classic topping!” Jamie argues.

“ _Maple syrup_ is a classic topping,” Seraphina corrects. “Maybe honey, if you’re all out.”

“Maple syrup, honey, Nutella,” Tooth says. “Ice cream if it’s dessert.”

“Wait. Why is ice cream only allowed during dessert?” Jamie asks.

“Silence, heathen,” Seraphina says, lifting herself back up on the bench. “Butter and jam have no place on pancakes. Father, tell Jamie he’s wrong and that he should feel bad.”

“Of course, he’s going to take your side!” Jamie laughs.

“Honestly, Sera,” Pitch drawls, curling his fingers through Jack’s hair. “You eat jam on toast so I’m not understanding the issue here.”

“ _Betrayed_ ,” Seraphina gasps, clutching her ribs dramatically. “By my own father!”

When they start discussing whether red velvet pancakes should be allowed to be served sans cream cheese, Jack tilts his head up, watching Pitch watch them, a little quirk to the side of his mouth. He pauses when he catches Jack staring, hand coming to press against Jack’s forehead.

He doesn't feel sick, just a little floaty. 

“Are you okay?” Jack asks, voice soft. 

“I am,” Pitch says, eyes searching. “Are you?”

Last night was a lot. After everything, Jack should’ve been the one making sure Pitch was alright. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep, leaving Pitch to take care of him again. He has no idea what the breakdown was about either, but Pitch doesn't seem worried. In place of the embarrassment and guilt he was expecting, Jack feels surprisingly content — like all the stress and anxiety and sadness has left his body, and all that’s left is everything else.

“Yeah,” Jack says, after a bit. “I think I am.”

Pitch smiles. A small private smile, just for Jack.

There’s a _click_ of a camera.

Pitch and Jack turn to Tooth, who peeks out from behind her phone, sunglasses perched on her head. “Oh, Jack, if you could just open Pitch’s robe, just a _tiny_ bit wider…”

“Oh my god.” Jack laughs, just as Pitch pushes off the wall, grabbing for the phone.

“Toothiana, that’s my _father_. Don’t be _vile_.”

“Ah, Sera! You’re getting glitter in the batter.”

Jack pulls his own phone out, lifting it up as high he can and tilting it down. He throws a peace sign up and taps the screen with his thumb. In the background, Seraphina is giving the camera the finger, while Jamie tries to scoop glitter out the mixing bowl. Tooth has a huge grin on her face, holding her phone out of Pitch’s reach, while Pitch leans over the table, an ugly snarl on his.

It’s completely, utterly, imperfect.

**Author's Note:**

> 100% unbeta'ed. Please let me know if you find any errors. As usual, if you would like me to tag more trigger/content warnings, or if you've found any language used inappropriate or problematic, please don't hesitate to let me know; I appreciate all call-outs.


End file.
